Dragon Frost (39 page)

“
I never
said but if you insist . . .” That earns him another slap across
the opposite side of his face. I cross my arms and huff.

“
Nice
talk . . . Altair.” I leave. “My god he’s unbelievable, is this how
most men act or is it just him . . .” I mutter as I storm towards
the Common Room. “He’s lucky I didn’t start kicking him!” I growl
under my breath and stop when I hear a gasping sound. I hesitate,
if that noise is what I think it is than I don’t want to interrupt.
I’m caught between checking and leaving.

Instead,
curiosity gets the best of me.

I push
open the door and the second I do, I come to an empty hallway with
a woman crouched on the ground, she’s crying . . . why? Knowing
something bad has happened, I walk over to her. “Hey, are you all
right?” I ask.

Her head whips
to me.

“
You!” 
It’s the receptionist. Great . . .
 “I practically threw myself at him
and he denied me and it’s all because of you!” I’m taken back, my
mind goes blank before I force it to rummage through the new
information. “They say only a fool denies a woman who offers
herself and he is a definite fool! Men chase after me every day and
you don’t hear me complaining!”

Talk about
egotistical.

“
I’m
sorry . . .” I say unsure what else to really say.

“
Really?”
she asks me with a quirked brow. I nod my head and she smiles.
“though I’m not all that convinced . . .” she adds after some time.
Come again?

“
What . .
. why?” I ask.

“
You may
want me to feel bad because you have that Nefaliem! You’re nothing
more than another Zylarian!” she growls. “Nefaliem don’t normally
date outside their species explaining why everyone wants them.”
She’s quick to stand and cross her arms that’s for sure which only
adds to her odd—hope. I regard her with impassive concern and
unsure about why she called me a Zylarian when I’m no such thing. I
thread my fingers through my hair at my waist and realise it’s
shorter. I glance down.

Black!

My hair
is black—
not
 a good
sign. “So it is,” I say casually and flip my hair back over my
shoulder. “and?”

“
And . .
. Nothing . . . I’ll have him.” She lunges towards me and I step
out of the way.

“
You
don’t want to do that.” I suggest as I raise my hands before me in
an attempt to calm her down which doesn’t help. Instead it just
aggravates her more. At this point I’m surprised at the anger and
pain twisted tightly into her features, I never would have thought
it possible, until now. Why do I have to run into her of all
days?

“
But I
do!” she growls and I turn my heel and run. “Get back here you
coward!” 
Coward? Since when am I a coward?
 I just don’t want to hurt her but in my Idol
Form, now, I should be as strong as her. Still I’ve proven time and
time again that I was stronger than the majority of women I ran
into. As I speed down the halls and around corners attempting to
distance—she chases after me like an in ranged bull after a red
fabric. She hysterically screaming after me, her voice is the only
thing that keeps me from running into her.

If this
was a war; she’ll be dead in moments. I shake my head.

I mustn’t
think such cruel things! I scold myself even though she deserved to
be brought down from whatever pedestal she’s climbed upon. Once I
hear her voice retreating in the distance and I slip around the
corner that I’ve been hiding around for some time and held my
breath as I saw her glide past muttering curses under her breath.
Now that I’m alone I only realise now that I exhale, releasing the
breath that I didn’t realise I held.

Honestly
this woman is such a troublemaker. I think and turn my heel before
stopping in the red carpet lined hallway. No . . . it’s not her but
Altair that is the troublemaker.

“
Who is she?”
 a voice asks, and I turn over my shoulder, images
begin to flash in my mind of crystal clear waters and lush green
forests, “
A
horrible cross-dresser . . .”

“
You have no idea.”
 the female voice enters and I freeze. It’s the same
voice that has been guiding me. My head begins to ache and I drop
down on my needs and squeeze my palms against my temple—attempting
to reduce the pain I was in—it stops. I notice before me, white
heeled wedges under a fleecy gown and tight scales. I glance
up—armour—scales—long sleeves.

Galataia!

I stare .
. . a little in shock. I find myself on my rear staring at the
being who looks like my sister with both confusion and fear. My
heart begins to pound in my chest. There’s nothing in this world
that scares me more than the walking dead.

It’s a
good thing they don’t exist.

“
Kal . .
.” Her voice is barely a whisper. “Varden . . .”

“
What
about Varden?” A loud clashing sound occurs, I jump to my feet and
sprint towards the nearest window.

Men and women
dressed in the Grattican colours stand in large numbers at our
gate. The Duke strides towards them with his head held high. His
attire comprises of a dark purple and crimson cloak; his clothes
are hidden from my view though I know they are fine. The sound of a
rifle fired makes its way to my ears and I freeze, the Duke is
pushed to the ground by a Knight, the second Knight that stood
behind him slowly falls to his knees.

Blood smears
his hand and he collapses.

Sirens ring and
the Duke is forced from the courtyard. I hear large booms occurring
overhead and cannon balls fly towards the soldiers who managed to
break down the gate and I curse. I glance over my shoulder and the
figure which appeared like my sister is now gone and I glance down
at opposite ends of the halls and make my way down corridors and
stairs towards our shared compartment.

I force
open the door to see Varden casually sitting on the sofa with a
book, he smiles at me with admiration. “There you are.” He stands
and makes his way towards me and I close the door behind me and
pull down the large wooden block and seal us within the room and
hopefully them out. I force Varden to the couch and set him down
glancing over my shoulders, at the windows and ceiling. “Are you
okay?” he asks and I move from him and begin to close all the
windows.

“
Where’s
Altair?” I ask.

“
Not
here,” he says with hidden malice and confusion. I turn to him and
place my hands on my hips.

“
We need
him,” I declare.

“
Why?” He
jumps to his feet. “We’re perfectly capable of taking care of
ourselves.” he adds and I don’t argue, a part of me agrees with
him, the other part is telling me to find someone with enough
strength to fend them off. In my unknown condition, I’m not fit for
battle. I curse. I’ve never been so useless in my life!

“
Is there
another way out?” I ask dumbly as I slip my black strands behind my
ear and kick off the rug, hoping to find some hidden
door.

“
What are
you doing now?” he demands and strides towards me. I brush past him
and search the opposite ends of the room. I can’t think about being
near him or Altair right now, we need to get out of here. I glance
at the sword on the wall—only a display sword—I drag a stool and
climb on it reaching for the weapon. Varden is at my feet. “Get
down, you’ll hurt yourself,” His hands attempt to steady me at my
thighs. I can tell the uneasiness in his voice is him getting used
to where his hands expectantly flew to.

I manage to
pull down the sword and with his help I stand once more on firm
ground. I may not have muscle power but I certainly do have brain
power.

Think!

If we
can’t get out of here than we can at least hide until they consider
the room “Clear”. Though, we’ll have to find a very good hiding
spot and then sneak out. I glance around the room, slightly
frustrated, slightly annoyed and above all slightly confused. Why
would the Grattican be at our doors? Other than the fact that they
are sworn enemies of the Nefaliem . . . what connection do they
have with the Zylarians and above all their Orders?

The steel
is cool and comforting in my hand, I test its weight and realise
the metal isn’t strong but should do. I glance at the doors and as
if years of training pays off, my eyes narrow, at the shadows under
the door. I force Varden from the door and into the furthest room,
Altair’s room. I close the door and glance around the room and see
a window is closed—not just closed but locked. I quickly pace
towards the window and stab the blade into its hinges attempting to
force it open, a click occurs I feel myself more confident about
our current predicament.

We just
may get out of this—alive.

War, the
only explanation, the only cause for greed and suffering. This is
something that no one can ever forget. Famine and drought occurs
due to the continuous strain on the land and the unpredictable
climate change. How can one possibly hope to survive in such harsh
environments? Not even men are invincible—they too have their
limits which they refuse to acknowledge.

The
acknowledgment of one’s limit, is the cause of one’s success. I
pull Varden along behind me as we sprint down alleyways, around
corners and past people who regard us with confusion and wariness
as their eyes finally land upon the blade within my grasp. “Move!”
I yell my voice strains as I force my way through the recently
parted crowd.

I’m
convinced that we are not being followed but I can’t help but feel
paranoid, even though the Grattican may have lost us—It’s the
‘Recorders’ I must avoid. Even the nicest person can be our enemy.
A large City Guard stops us in our attempts to flee, his large
thick hands, are held up in such an influential manner that I stop
at his gesture. “I will not tolerate a public nuisance.” I scowl at
him.

“
Move.” I
order in a deep fierce tone. At my words, several of his men begin
to surround us. I drop Varden’s hand and clasp the hilt of the
sword firmly. “Move and you’ll be spared,” I warn. Laughter occurs
around me and I grind my teeth.
 I don’t have time for this!

“
A woman
threatening us?” peers a man beside what appears to be the Captain
of this group. “Last time I checked . . . I’m stronger than you—“ I
charge. The first few men attempt to bring out their swords but I’m
quick and manage to slip past their line and point the blade at the
Captain’s throat.

“
You may
be stronger but I’m nimbler. Stand your men down.” It takes several
long stretches of silence before the Captain nods his head and his
men sheath their blades, I don’t take my eye of the Captain and
keep the men in my peripheral vision. I can’t afford to be seized
now, not after everything I’ve been through to get this
far.
 I
won’t have it, I won’t surrender.

Varden
slips through the crowd, he turns to stop behind me and I slowly
pace back and Varden does the same, he turns his heel and sprints
on, I follow after. I glance over my shoulder—they still stand
there, their faces are masked in anger and
fear. 
Serves you right, may be you need to be shown up, to become
humble and smarter.
 I think. The sound of hooves and whining of horses
pulls my attention. I glance to the right flank and lock my eyes on
a stable. “Varden!” I call and he stops several paces ahead of me
and turns around. “There!” I nod my head in the direction of the
stables and he smiles.

It’s not
every day that people manage to escape with their lives but somehow
we did and I pull up the horse at the edge of the valley where the
city of Midra stands tall under the yellow sun. The frozen air
doesn’t seem to have changed and Varden pulls his jacket around
himself to insulate what warmth he has retained from the burning
fire at his feet. I stroke the mane of the pearly white horse; its
breathing is rigid. We pushed her a little too hard but we had to
put as much distance as we could between us and the Grattican.
Though I’m concerned about Dante and for starters about Altair, I
wonder if they’ll make it. I know they will but I can’t help but
worry and I feel rather ridiculous because they can take care of
themselves.

I hope you guys are all right.
 I think.

‘
Kal?’
 I
hear Altair’s voice. I freeze.

‘
Altair?’
 I
ask.

‘
It’s me, where are you?’

‘
At the edge of Willer’s Valley. Why?’
 I glance around at the still,
snowflakes, situated upon the pine like leaves of the woods around
us.

‘
You need to keep moving . . . it’s not safe.’

‘
I’m not leaving you guys.’

‘
Well . . . you kind of did.’
 I feel a tinge of pain strike my heart and I
remain silent. ‘
Don’t worry, we’ll be all right. They want
Varden.’

‘
I know.’

‘
Make your way back to the Order.’

‘
What makes you think that the Order hasn’t been infiltrated
if the Sector in Midra has?’