Blood Ties

Morwyn dreamed of a desperate world on the brink of ruin. Ash fell from a darkened sky like black snow upon a crumbling cityscape lit solely by the inferno of flames that consumed it. Thick, billowing smoke filled her lungs with each desperate breath as she limped down an alleyway of shattered stone. Her left leg was scorched and splinters of wooden shrapnel protruded from her calf and thigh. She left a winding trail of blood on the ashy cobbles behind her. Rubble and charred wood blocked the path before her and a pair of legs, the bones shattered and flesh ground nearly to a paste, protruded from beneath a large stone that had fallen from the tower nearby when it had collapsed.

Too short. They can't be his.

Morwyn wiped her sweat-slicked black hair from her forehead and felt a lance of pain. She paused for a moment and inspected the back of her hand only to find that it was covered in blood. With her head spinning, Morwyn gingerly reached back up to inspect her wound. A sliver of wood was lodged in her scalp just above the hairline. A few inches lower and it would've surely killed her... or made her wish she was dead.

Gritting her teeth while tears of pain flowed freely from eyes irritated by the smoke, Morwyn tried to get a hold of the shrapnel to yank it out. Several times her shaking fingers failed to find purchase and slipped off as nearly incapacitating pain lanced through her head. With a hoarse whimper she finally dug the nail of her thumb into the wood and managed to slowly pull it out. She could feel it scrape against her skull before it finally slipped loose. Blood flowed freely down her forehead, trailing through the sweat and grime on her face as it traced the left side of her nose and wet her cracked lips before it dripped from her chin.

I have to find him...

She attempted to breathe through the front of her tunic to steady herself but it was no use. The smoke was too thick. She stumbled forward, paused to let out a wracking cough, and began to climb the pile of rubble as she heavily favored her left leg. Over the cacophony of the roaring flames and the shrieks of the dying, Morwyn heard it again. The steady thump of the beast's wings as it came in for another attack. She threw herself against the stone wall near the top of the pile of rubble, gritting as the splinters in her leg scraped against the stone and plunged deeper into her aching flesh. She wished she could simply leap into the sky and make her escape, but that would only make her an easy target. Besides, she couldn't leave him to such a terrible fate. Not after all he'd done to protect her.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she leaned away from the wall to watch the sky. The entire world seemed to hold its breath for a horrifying moment... and then the street ahead of her exploded in a roar of hellish crimson fire.

Morwyn awoke with a gasp and panted raggedly for air, sweat dripping from her body despite the chill of the autumn night. Images from the nightmare flashed through her mind with each rapid blink of her unfocused eyes. Scorched remnants of bodies strewn about a city square, ruined buildings collapsing in on themselves, the night colored red as the flames cast an eerie glow upon columns of black smoke obscuring the sky... It was a vision out of the hells themselves.

Swallowing unsuccessfully against a dry throat, she carefully extricated herself from the tangle of blankets and sat on the edge of the bed with her head in her hands. Hazel groaned softly and rolled over behind her but didn't seem roused by the disturbance. The dream had been so real, so vivid, that even the smell of smoke lingered in her nostrils.

Dulled from the haze of her violent awakening, it took a moment for Morwyn to realize that the smell did not fade with the dwindling of the dream's intensity. She sat up straight and frowned as she wiped her sweat-slicked blonde hair back from her forehead. Alarmed, she tested the air with her nose again as she scanned the dark interior of their cabin. The barest glow of the embers in the fireplace gave feeble light to the dark shapes of furniture in the living area beyond the bedroom. Nothing seemed out of place, yet with each passing second she grew more convinced that she smelled something burning that shouldn't be.

“Hazel... Hazel, wake up. I smell smoke.”

Groggy and grumbling, Hazel slowly stirred and set a sleeping Lys on one of the pillows beside her before sitting up and rubbing her bleary eyes.

“Huh? What's happening?”

“I smell smoke,” Morwyn insisted softly. She rose quickly and moved to the doorway of the bedroom to peer into the kitchen. “I can't tell where it's coming from.”

“Fireplace?” Hazel suggested with a yawn as she hopped off the bed and stumbled to Morwyn's side, her nightdress slightly twisted and falling off of one shoulder.

“No, I don't think so. It was almost out by the time I came home.”

They stepped out into the central room of the cabin and split off in different directions to investigate. All of the candles were out, the coals in the fireplace were dim and covered in white ash, and no smoke wafted through the cabin from the cracked windows. Confused and still not yet entirely awake, Morwyn nearly stepped on the smoldering ember before the faintest glow caught her eye. It sat atop the coil rug that lay in front of the main door next to the rack that held her weapons and rucksack. Eyes wide, she gingerly lifted the small mat to peer at the tiny spark of light and was alarmed to watch it grow before her eyes. The rush of air from the movement must have fed the hungry cinder.

“Found it,” she called to Hazel who was tiredly scooping the coals from the fireplace into an iron bucket. “A bit of wood must've popped and sent this flying across the room...” Even as she said it Morwyn knew it sounded wrong. The cabin was small but there was still far too much space between the fireplace and the doormat, wasn't there?

“Oh dear,” Hazel said as she shuffled up to investigate and her eyes grew wide. “Get some water on that before it lights. Talk about a close call... glad you woke up when you did or we'd be in trouble.”

Morwyn held the smoldering rug aloft and swiftly unlocked the front door before stepping out into the brisk night air in nothing but her undergarments. Thick white smoke began to billow from the twisted reeds of the mat before she plunged it into the rain barrel beneath the corner of the front porch. Though she didn't feel the cold, a shiver ran down her spine as she stared at the sodden mat floating in the dark water. It had been mere moments from erupting into flame.

“Come back to bed, darling,” Hazel murmured as she slipped a hand around Morwyn's waist. She did so, but not without one more glance over her shoulder into the dark forest on the surround. For some reason it felt far less welcoming than it had before.

***

“I must say, Miss Willowbend, I'm overjoyed to have someone like you step into my shoes,” Master Kerren said dryly as he heaped a large portion of stew into a wooden bowl and meandered down the line for the midday meal. He was as monotonous as ever, though Morwyn knew by now that the sentiment was genuine from the ponderous old gnome. “And I'm pleased that you brought a competent assistant with you as well. I may finally be able to retire after all.”

Hazel nudged Morwyn with her elbow and gave her a wink and a grin of satisfaction as they followed behind the grizzled little man.

“Thank you, Master Kerren! We're both grateful for the opportunity. Dragons are fascinating creatures! It may be the most intriguing work I've had the pleasure of pursuing, though I do also appreciate your instruction in the more mundane healing arts.”

Morwyn chuckled at the formal speech that Hazel adopted when speaking with Master Kerren. She glanced over her shoulder to Yvonne, who rolled her eyes and shifted the weight of the copper dragon perched on her shoulders like an oversized falcon.

“No mention of your lovely volunteers,” the elf whispered with a wry smile. “Zepharion and I should've joined the Healers' Guild for all the time we've spent as your test subjects. Not that I mind, of course. We're learning a lot as well.”

“And it gives Zeph and Lys plenty of time to play together,” Morwyn murmured back as they inched forward in line following Master Kerren's slow and aged gait. “I can't believe how much they've grown already. They've nearly doubled in size in less than a fortnight.”

Lys, who was making a game of weaving between Morwyn's legs as she walked, rubbed her scales against her calf and let out a rumbling hiss of impatience.

I'm hungry, mama!

“I know you're hungry, little one,” Morwyn said aloud as she grabbed a small wooden plate and piled it high with sausage links for the little dragon as Hazel filled a bowl for each of them. “We've got to wait until we're seated. It's the polite thing to do.”

“Their appetites will only continue to grow,” Master Kerren grumbled sagely as he trundled toward a nearby table with his entourage following patiently at his heels. “Bonded dragons grow in power and in stature far more quickly than their unbonded fellows and thus require significantly more nutrition in the early years. A typical dragon will reach maturity in a century whereas yours will do so in less than half of that time. It's particularly noticeable in the early years. With that rapid development comes growing pains and, as you've surely noticed, a ravenous hunger.”

By the time the old gnome finished his lecture the small group had settled around the table for lunch and began to eat, though Morwyn merely nibbled at a sausage with little appetite before occupying herself by tossing cuts of it into the air for Lys to snatch with lightning quick bites. The dragonling reveled in the game and Morwyn began to toss the morsels higher and higher. Lys stood on her hind legs and stretched out her slender neck to its full extent to catch them, fluttering her wings experimentally as she did so until Morwyn finally threw a piece out of her reach. She kicked off the ground and flapped her little wings with several ungainly thrusts, managing to catch the meat but tumbling onto her back in the process to the mirth of all.

“She'll be flying before long,” Hazel sighed with affection as she pushed her empty bowl to the side and adjusted her woolen green scarf against a brief gust of the chill autumn air. “Gods, the trouble she'll get up to when she does...”

“I don't think I'll have to worry about that as soon as you two,” Yvonne chuckled as she rubbed her own dragon's full belly. Zepharion was decidedly less energetic than his playmate and preferred frequent naps while Lys had a seemingly insatiable curiosity and desire for adventure.

“I expect them both to begin flight lessons in another month or so,” Master Kerren said as he rose from the bench and collected his dishes with a creak of his of ancient joints. “The younglings will take a bit longer. One of the advantages you two have as adults is that your life experience and maturity carries through your bonds. A child that is learning and growing alongside their hatchling requires more careful guidance to avoid injury to either party.”

As if on cue, a pained yelp from several tables away caused the group to turn toward the sound as one. Martin, the young boy from the Vale who had bonded to an unruly green dragon, cried loudly and held one hand clamped over the other while blood trickled between his fingers. His father consoled the boy and inspected the wound while his mother scooped up the hatchling and soothed it with soft words and gentle strokes.

“For example...” Kerren grumbled, gesturing tiredly to the scene with his spoon. “If you'll excuse me, I'll attend to that. I believe our evening lesson will be on the various traits of dragons according to their breed. Consider yourselves fortunate that neither of yours produce venom.”

Morwyn glanced between Hazel and Yvonne with a wince of sympathy for the boy as the old gnome ambled off while leaning heavily on his cane with his dishes cradled under his other crooked arm.

“I'm certainly glad that Lys hasn't gotten her teeth or claws into us,” Morwyn murmured as she scratched absently under her hatchling's slender jaw. “Not deeply at least. Her playful nips are painful enough. I'd hate to see what those little daggers could do if she really meant it.”

“She'd never do that to us, would you, sweetie?” Hazel said in a sing-song voice as she traced a finger along the thin membrane of the dragon's wings.

No, mama, Lys replied sweetly, lifting her head up with pride. I'm a good girl.

“Of course you are,” Hazel beamed as she held another sausage aloft. It disappeared in a flash of silver and Morwyn couldn't help but marvel at the speed of Lys' snakelike strike. Yvonne chuckled as Zepharion rolled onto his stomach and perked up, eyeing the remaining sausages as his tongue flicked out curiously.

“I need to leave before this one gets sick from overeating,” the elf said with a roll of her eyes. “We'll see you this evening. Come on, lump. Let's find Eronir and pester him. It's not like the Vale Guard has anything better to do, right?”

Morwyn smiled as Yvonne struggled to get her protesting dragonling to rise and wandered off in the direction of the barracks where her partner was often swamped with the logistics of the Vale's security. Morwyn had neither seen nor heard of Argoth completing paperwork, though she supposed it was the captain's prerogative to delegate such things to his deputy. She'd also never actually witnessed Argoth reading anything but thought it a terrible idea to ask if he even could.

“You should eat something, dear. Don't think I haven't noticed your lack of appetite.” Hazel's soft chiding interrupted Morwyn's distracted thoughts and she sighed, looking down at the bowl of stew growing cold on the table before her. It smelled delicious but she couldn't muster the desire to dig in as she once would have.

“Nerves, I guess. I've been a bit on edge lately.”

Hazel nodded in understanding and laid a comforting hand on Morwyn's knee.

“And for a good reason,” the halfling said in a hushed whisper as she leaned in close. “Be that as it may, I won't have my lady love waste away when there's perfectly good food in front of her.”

Though the knot in her stomach twisted at the very thought, Morwyn obliged and scooped up a spoonful of the stew. She made to take an unwilling bite when Hazel's hand suddenly shot forward and grabbed her wrist with an iron grip. Morwyn looked down with bewildered concern.

“What's the matter? I thought you wanted-”

“Something's not right,” Hazel interrupted sharply. The sudden hardness in her expression startled Morwyn so badly she thought her heart might stop for a moment. The halfling's grip was so tight that her nails dug into her flesh though Morwyn paid that no mind as Hazel pulled her arm downward. She gave the spoon a delicate sniff, her brows lowering as a grim look overtook her features.

“Valasbane,” Hazel hissed as she removed the spoon from Morwyn's clenched hand and smelled it again. “There's valasbane in this.”

Knowing better than to ask, Morwyn watched on in anxious silence as Hazel released her wrist and pulled her empty bowl close. Her nose twitched as she compared the scent of Morwyn's lunch to that of her own several times. She nodded and gingerly slid the bowl away from Morwyn and in front of herself, keeping it at arm's length.

“Someone's tried to poison you,” Hazel whispered with a snarl curling her lip. “And it's not just any poison. Valasbane is incredibly rare and one of the deadliest that I know about. It acts so quickly that even improper handling of the raw berries can be fatal. It has a sickly sweet smell like anise tinged with rot... I've only seen it once before when my parents taught me about lethal herbs, a lesson burned into my memory.”

Rather than fear, anger flooded through Morwyn and she clenched her fists to keep her hands from trembling with the sudden onset of rage. Her nostrils flared and her breathing quickened nearly to a pant as the magic of her father stirred deep within its icy prison and brought her own blood to a boil. Though she couldn't detect the smell that Hazel described, she trusted the halfling's word implicitly and the implication confirmed what she already suspected in the back of her mind. The ember on their doormat not two weeks prior had been no random accident.

Someone within the Vale wanted her dead, and they were willing to kill those she loved most in the world to do it.

Her mind immediately shot to Hela, to the woman's powerful aura and unnerving stare. As much as Rennock believed in his attempts at concealment Morwyn couldn't help but fixate on the possibility. Hela had both the motive and the power to dispose of Morwyn with impunity if she chose, yet other questions lingered that caused her to doubt her own gut feeling. If her hatred for the blood dragons was so strong after all this time, why would she bother with subtlety?

Despite her own misgivings, the bloody center of her core roiled with anticipation and strained against its bounds as she glanced furtively around the table-lined arena. Neither Hela nor Rennock were anywhere in sight which wasn't entirely surprising. Most of the dragons preferred to dine in solitude rather than at the common area.

“How is this possible?” Morwyn whispered through gritted teeth. “We all went through the same line. Is anyone else at risk? Are you?”

Lys, apparently sensing the tension of the conversation but lacking the means to understand its gravity, mewed uncertainly and sat back on her haunches with her head resting on the bench between Morwyn and Hazel.

“No, no, I'm alright,” Hazel reassured her quickly as she pulled Lys onto her lap to calm the distressed little dragon as much as herself. “Mine is clean and I don't recall smelling it in the serving line. Master Kerren most certainly knows about valasbane and may even have a sample in his repository, but I don't believe... no, I know he wouldn't do such a thing. It's unthinkable. Besides, he was never even close to your food. He sat opposite you and, pardon my mentioning it, his arms are even shorter than mine.”

Morwyn took several deep breaths to try and clear the fog of anger from her mind and keep from causing a disturbance. Several seconds passed as she peeked within her center to ensure that her containment of the blood magic was secure. The gold and azure bands surrounding it held strong, but the dark crimson stain imprisoned within was restless and yearned for the freedom she so vehemently denied it.

“I agree that he wouldn't. He's a healer, not an assassin,” she agreed after some time. “But that doesn't mean someone else didn't steal it from him...”

Morwyn became suddenly aware of the dryness in her mouth and reached for the mug of cider she'd taken to wash down the meal she'd thankfully never eaten. She hesitated just before her fingers closed around the handle and she shared a worried look with Hazel. Morwyn gestured subtly to the mug with one finger as her mind raced with possibilities, all of which were bad but one in particular scared her half to death.

“Check that for me? I have a hunch and I don't like what it is I'm thinking. Gods, I hope I'm wrong.”

Hazel did as she was asked with lines of stress deepening in her face. She leaned carefully over Lys to grab the mug with trembling hands and slid it to the edge of the table, passing her nose over the rim several times. Relief softened her features for a moment and she let out a shaky breath.

“Nothing. It's clean.”

Fearing that her wild assumption was correct, Morwyn focused the perception she'd spent long hours honing in Rennock's study and placed a finger against the smooth and weathered wood of the mug. The instantaneous flicker of magic was minute and so subtle that if she hadn't been looking for exactly such a thing she never would have noticed it. The tingle of the arcane was unmistakable for the briefest of moments before it vanished and was gone as if it were never there. Hazel's eyes went wide and she looked down into the mug in alarm and gave it another sniff. She covered her mouth with one hand and gave Morwyn a terrified look, causing her stomach to drop like a stone.

“It's... it's there,” Hazel whispered in confusion. “One moment it was clear but just now, when you touched it...”

“Does valasbane have any color to it?” Morwyn asked softly as she eyed the puddle of grease beneath the pile of sausages remaining on her plate, glad that she'd only fed those from the top of the stack to her dragon.

“The berries have a dark pink, almost purplish juice to them. Why?”

Morwyn pointed to the faintest of pink stains where the grease met the plate, then the matching ring of color around the waterline of her mug. Another rimmed the bowl of stew. Even the spoon was slightly discolored wherever it had touched the gravy. Hazel began to hyperventilate and leaned back away from the table.

“It's in the wood of the dishware,” Morwyn growled under her breath as she struggled mightily to contain her renewed fury. “They're all poisoned.”

Hazel pulled her scarf free from her neck and fanned her face and chest which were both flushed a deep red. Beads of sweat were forming on her forehead and her eyes were wide with mortal terror.

“Oh gods, where is Master Kerren? We need him now!”

Morwyn gripped Hazel's hand tightly beneath the table and shook her head, though it took her a moment to speak past the lump of anger in her throat.

“No, Hazel, that would cause pandemonium. Look around us, no one is dying. I know what happened. I've seen this magic and have suffered its consequences before.”

“What bloody magic?” Hazel demanded in a breathy whisper, her wide eyes locked on Morwyn's own.

“A conditional trigger,” Morwyn replied darkly as she thought back to her discussion with Rennock in the aftermath of their encounter with the giants. “Prepared magic that only activates under specific conditions.”

Hazel, on the verge of tears, clutched Lys to her chest and squeezed Morwyn's hand so hard that her bones ached. With her free hand Morwyn surreptitiously tossed all the dishes and unfinished food into a nearby brazier except for the mug, which she emptied but kept intact. They would need evidence for her coming accusation.

“But who...” A sob cut off Hazel's question before she could finish it.

“The rogue mage. The one that caused us so much harm on the journey here in an effort to kill me,” Morwyn murmured as quietly as she could. “We need to stay calm and find Rennock as soon as possible. His sister would kill everyone in the Vale to end me.”