In this chapter, I'm going to be introducing an OC of sorts... I hope he's well received.


Chapter Seven

Converging Paths

'The lotuses of Mene!'

Dyfed finally broke what had become an overly long silence. Fymryn had expected them to be surprised, not rendered speechless. She held one of the lotuses in her cupped hands, the light bathing her face in a purple glow.

'Where did you find them?' Adara breathed, her eyes still fixed on the lotus.

'Uh... in a pool of water.' Fymryn supplied vaguely. 'In the forest.'

'You went into the Nightsilver Woods?' Dyfed managed to tear his eyes away from the lotus and stared at her, aghast. 'You went to the Temple?'

'You stole them!' Adara gasped.

'Selemene stole them.' Fymryn objected. 'Selemene and her clerics. I'm just... stealing them back.'

Idwal leaned in and sniffed loudly. 'Smells funny.'

'Never mind the bloody smell!' Dyfed snapped. 'Fymryn, they'll be after you! They're not going to let you go so easily.'

'They didn't.' Fymryn scowled.

'That's how you got hurt, isn't it?'

Fymryn sighed, rolling her eyes. 'One of them tried to shoot me. She missed, and I lost them in the woods ages ago. They're not going to find us.' She decided to neglect mentioning being chased by a night-beast for now. Any more worry and Dyfed's heart would burst.

'You're so reckless!' Adara leaned in close, a wicked grin twisting her lips. 'And I love you for that.' She planted a mushy kiss on Fymryn's cheek.

'Not now, Adara!' Fymryn chided. 'Come on. Let's get back to the village. I'm starving.'

She had also failed to mention the strange person who had been so helpful, giving her the glamour and information she needed to steal the lotuses. But she felt that omitting this would not do much harm.

She wondered if she would ever find out that stranger's identity.


The nightmares were worse than ever.

Davion tossed and turned almost every night, his dreams filled with fire and blood and the song.

Even when he was awake, he could just about hear it. It was not a sound as such, it seemed to be in his mind rather than the air. He could not understand it. The more he tried to concentrate on it, the harder it became to hear.

With the nightmares came the risk of the change overcoming him. He would awaken to find spots of blood on his bedroll and his arms. He knew that the draconic scales kept slicing through his flesh at night. As much as it may have irritated Mirana and flustered Marci, he would only sleep in his small-clothes now. He had shredded one of the tunics they had bought for him the other night.

It was probably just as well that they were avoiding the roads now. Word would have spread since the massacre outside Haupstadt, and there would no doubt be a great many sell-swords, bounty hunters, vagabonds and errant masterless knights seeking him now. It also seemed that Mirana and Marci were running from something, and it was not a threat Davion knew of.

Marci might have told him more, but Mirana forbade her from giving anything away. As sweet and trusting as she was, Marci would not disobey Mirana.

Groaning, Davion sat up and held his head in his hands. What was that blasted song doing in his head?

'Give me one reason.'

Davion looked up, unsurprised to see Mirana standing there with an arrow ready to fly. She had not pulled back the bowstring fully, no archer, no matter how strong, could hold back a taut bowstring indefinitely. It would only take her a heartbeat to pull it back fully and release, he knew that. If she did, the arrow would enter his heart and there would be no change.

Perhaps that would be for the best.

'I can't.' Davion admitted quietly. 'Believe me, I want to live. But I can't promise to be safe.'

Mirana frowned. She was clearly debating drawing back the arrow fully and ending the problem here and now.

A small, pale hand came to rest on the hand holding the bow and gently pushed it down. The arrow now pointed harmlessly at the ground. Marci was looking up at Mirana, her brow furrowed and her eyes narrowed.

Mirana exhaled heavily through her nose, eased the bowstring and removed the arrow from the string. 'What do you want to do, Davion?'

'Stop whatever is happening to me.'

Mirana looked to Marci, who nodded. 'We're going to see a sage. He lives beyond the Broken Peaks. That might be your best chance.'

'You think so?'

Marci held up a wobbly hand. Maybe. She offered a small smile and held up her crossed fingers. Hopefully.

Davion thought hard. 'There's also a Dragon Knight keep in the mountains: Weiß Wache.'

Mirana stared at him in shock. 'Davion, if they see what you—'

'Nobody knows more about dragons than the Dragon Knights. Perhaps they can help.'

'Then how come you don't know what happened to you?'

Davion shrugged. 'I'm just a dragon hunter, not a commander or a scholar. Even we have secrets—well, some of us do.' He winked at Marci.

Mirana did not immediately understand, but Marci blushed and a hint of that pretty, dreamy smile made her lips twitch. Davion grinned in response.

Mirana sighed, unstrung her bow and settled back down to sleep. Marci did not. She approached Davion and sat next to him, a trace of the blush still on her face.

Davion still could not fathom her trust. He had come damn close to killing her outside Haupstadt, and she had been injured trying to help him. He was dangerous, yet she had faith in him.

For that reason alone, he was determined not to let the change take over—at least not without warning Marci and Mirana first. He did not want to hurt Marci, or prove unworthy of her trust.

Marci held out a small flask. Davion shook his head and sat up fully, propping his back against the tree behind him. He was not going to get any more sleep tonight.

Neither would Marci.

Davion had noticed that she was a heavy sleeper. He had also figured out why she had been awake that night just after they had found him unconscious on the road. He had not woken her, she had already been awake—Marci suffered nightmares of her own.

Just after fleeing Haupstadt, Davion had woken in time to see Marci thrashing around in her sleep. He would have approached, he had wanted to, but he knew how strong she was and she had been flailing wildly. It was as if she had been desperately trying to fight something off, but without the skill and finesse she now possessed.

Mirana had slowly approached Marci, whistling a gentle tune which Davion thought was familiar. As Marci had relaxed, Mirana had knelt by her side, held her hand and stroked her hair, whispering: 'It's all right, Marci. It's all right.'

Davion had not asked about it. He had the uneasy feeling that Marci's nightmare had something to do with the scars on her throat. The way she had been lashing out put him in mind of a wounded animal. Besides, if she wanted to tell him she would do so in her own time.

Marci crossed her legs, watching him curiously. At a loss, Davion shrugged.

Marci pulled out her dagger. She used the tip to write in the dirt, the letters just visible in the light of the fire. Is there anything I can do to help?

Davion felt a soft, pleasant warmth in his chest. Here he was, some sort of shape-shifting cannibal-dragon-freak, and she wanted to help him if she could.

'I don't think so, but thanks for asking.' He cushioned his head with his hands. 'You're really sweet.'

Marci smiled, her eyes twinkling in the firelight. Her gaze kept flicking towards the muscles on his exposed arms, that little smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

An idea struck him, something to keep them both from worrying. 'Maybe there is something we can do.'

She looked intrigued and a little wary. Perhaps it was his use of "we". She arched an eyebrow, as if saying: Are you implying something?

For a moment, Davion actually allowed himself to consider that idea. Would Marci rip off his manhood or not? She did not appear to be scared or angry, just curious and coy. He noticed that her pupils had dilated and that her lips were slightly parted.

He realised that no, she would not kill him if he did suggest that. Would she refuse? That was not so clear, but he had the impression that she might not have if he had suggested it.

He was neither blind nor stupid, and even somebody who was blind and stupid would have realised that Marci was attracted to him. He had figured out that she had likely never been with a man before. She was at least a little intrigued by the possibility of changing that.

Davion had to admit that he would not have minded. He probably would have enjoyed it. She was not his usual type, but she was attractive—very attractive. If he had met her back in that tavern with no Mirana to interrupt them, who knew what might have happened?

He certainly would have tried to seduce her. Hell, he had tried to seduce her before Mirana had called her away. What he found himself wondering was whether it would have ended as a simple one-night stand. She was truly unique. He certainly would not have forgotten her in a hurry, as he had so many other paramours.

But this was neither the time nor the place. Sadly.

He was too dangerous, and Mirana would probably kill him if she caught him messing around with her handmaiden, even if she was willing.

Marci was still staring at him, now looking perplexed. He realised that he had been staring at her for almost a minute, lost in thoughts about her.

Davion stuck to his original idea instead, feeling guilty for thinking about Marci like that. She deserved better—she deserved something meaningful, not brief. 'I've noticed that you sometimes...' he wondered if he was about to offend her '...talk with Mirana using signs and whistles.'

Marci nodded. Her face had relaxed but he noticed a little flush of colour persisting around her neck, highlighting the faint scars usually hidden by her collar. He did not find them repulsive. He actually felt sympathetic when he saw them, sympathetic and sad. They told him that Marci had likely not been born mute. Something had taken her voice from her. Someone had taken her voice, he knew knife scars when he saw them.

'Could you teach me any of it?'

She was surprised, but an eager grin spread across her face and she nodded. She used her dagger to write a word in the dirt, then trilled softly.


Mirana was woken by a quiet laugh, followed by a staccato series of whistles. She eased herself onto her forearm and lifted her head.

Sitting with his back to a tree was Davion, mostly covered by his bedroll. He was watching Marci, who was sitting cross-legged next to him, scraping something in the dirt with her dagger.

Davion peered at whatever she had carved, then tried to repeat the whistle. Marci shook her head, amused, and whistled again. Davion copied the sound and she nodded, smiling widely.

It took Mirana a few sleepy moments to figure it out: Marci was teaching Davion her "language".

She felt a little stab of envy and squashed it immediately. The series of whistles and signs Marci used to communicate had been developed over the years with Mirana's help. It had been a secret language only the two of them had understood. It had annoyed more than a few people in the palace, not knowing what the two of them were saying. Now Marci was letting Davion in on the secret.

Mirana let the brief spurt of anger and envy fade away. She should have known that a day would come when somebody would catch Marci's eye. She realised that she had essentially taken Marci's presence for granted, expecting Marci to remain by her side forever. Maybe she had even hoped for it.

But Marci had every right to be happy. She deserved to be happy.

Mirana settled down, feeling a small smile curl her lips as she watched the Dragon Knight and her handmaiden. Marci had suffered before the coup, she had suffered during the coup, and she had suffered after it. If Davion lifted her spirits a little, then Mirana was content to let him remain—even if he was potentially dangerous.

Perhaps the sage would be able to help him. She hoped so. She had to admit that she was growing to like Davion, and she did not want Marci to suffer again.

Tomorrow they would see about picking up supplies in the next village, leaving Davion out of sight just in case.

Then they would tackle the mountains.


Dyfed sat back and watched as Fymryn told the children the old story about Mene and the usurper. She loved telling the story, and the children loved to hear it. She told it with fervour and faith, truly believing that their beloved Mene would return to them one day.

He should have known that she would try to reclaim Mene's lotuses. She had always been the most daring amongst them—the most reckless.

'...and one day, Mene will return to us, and we will finally be able to return home.' Fymryn concluded.

The children all clamoured to ask questions, and ask for more stories. Fymryn was too good a storyteller for her own good sometimes.

'When will She come back?'

'Where is home? What's it like?'

'I don't want to go home. I want more stories.'

Fymryn laughed. 'Soon! Soon! Off with you now. I have things to do, and so do you.' She stood, a wide smile on her face. At the same time, Dyfed could not help but notice the look in her large bright eyes. There was a degree of apprehension there. Apprehension and excitement—much excitement.

She was going off on another mad quest.

Dyfed followed her up the spiralling wooden steps which led up to the home he and Fymryn shared. Below, their fellow elves bustled all over the village. Theirs was a simple existence, built more upon hope and the need to survive than anything else. To an outsider, it would have appeared both strange and idyllic, peaceful and busy.

There were some who had grown comfortable here, content to call it home.

There were also a few like Fymryn, restless, eager to reclaim the ancestral homeland.

Fymryn went inside, so preoccupied that she did not notice Dyfed following her. Dyfed glanced over his shoulder, spotted Adara and Idwal, and nodded to them. The duo returned the nod and approached the steps as Dyfed followed Fymryn inside.

Fymryn leaned on the table with a long sigh. Motes of dust billowed into the air, disturbed by her breath.

Dyfed approached quietly. 'What troubles you, my love?'

Fymryn was not surprised by his presence. Maybe she had noticed him after all. 'I... might need to leave. Again.'

Dyfed laid his hands on her shoulders and gently massaged them. 'No, you don't.'

'Yes, I do.' Fymryn insisted softly. 'Taking the lotuses wasn't enough to bring Her back, Dyfed. There's more. There's something I have to do.'

Dyfed knew that he would not win an argument with her. Even if she seemingly caved, she would simply vanish during the night. She had done it before, she would do it again if she had to.

Adara and Idwal entered, with Idwal bumping into a chair as he went. Subtlety was not his forte. Adara threw him a despairing glance.

'Why you, Fymryn?' Dyfed asked, staring at the back of her head as if he could see into her mind. 'You've already taken a huge risk. You were hurt, you might have been killed.'

Fymryn finally turned around. 'This is why.'

Dyfed gasped as a shadowy mass enveloped her. One moment, she was there before him. In the next second, she had appeared on the other side of the room. Then, two more Fymryns appeared next to her. Another shadow enveloped her and she reappeared in front of Dyfed.

Idwal collapsed onto the chair, and fell off it. Adara was just as slack-jawed as Dyfed.

Fymryn held out her arms, beckoning the questions forth. Sure enough, they came thick and fast.

'How did you do that?'

'What was that? Was that magic?'

'Who taught you to do that?'

'How... how long have you been able to...'

Fymryn shrugged in response to all of them. 'I just can. Nobody taught me. But I know that I have these gifts for a reason.'

'They say that the most favoured of Mene could do such things.' Adara recalled reverently. 'She must have blessed you, Fymryn.'

'It's because of these gifts that I was able to escape with the lotuses. I know what I must do: I need to find the sage the stories speak of and take the lotuses to him.'

'What sage?' Idwal demanded, still rubbing his throbbing back.

'Don't you listen, Idwal?' Adara groaned. 'Mene has a powerful ally, a wise master of the old lore.'

'If anybody knows how to use the lotuses to bring Her back, it's him.' Fymryn nodded solemnly. 'I must find him. I'm leaving tonight.'

'No.' Dyfed shook his head.

'Dyfed... I must.'

'I'm not saying that you shouldn't go,' Dyfed reached out and pulled her close, his gaze warm and loving. 'I'm saying that you won't go alone this time.'

Adara and Idwal stepped over and placed their hands on Fymryn's shoulders. She looked to each of them, overwhelmed by their support and faith in her.

Together, the four of them would find the sage. They would bring Mene back, and reclaim the homeland for their people.


Whatever Mirana had used on Marci's wounds, it had done the trick. She was back to her usual self, and Mirana had removed the stitches last night.

Davion had been half-aware of the procedure, keeping watch for trouble rather than watching Mirana work for the sake of Marci's dignity—even though she had draped her cloak across her front.

He had noticed that Marci made barely any sound as Mirana worked. There was just the odd hiss of breath as Mirana pulled the stitches free. It occurred to him that she had not yelped or screamed when injured outside Haupstadt. When she had laughed the other night, there had been no sound other than rapid exhalations—it had been her expression and movements which had told him that she was amused. It seemed that the only noises she could make were whistles.

Again, he also found it curious that this did not bother him. He just wondered what had happened to her.

Now she was going through the packs with him and Mirana. Knowing that they were going to travel across the Broken Peaks, they had visited the nearest village to buy supplies. Davion had been left behind in case any opportunists lacking coin but carrying weapons were about, but he had taken Marci aside and told her what she should try to acquire.

Neither Mirana nor Marci had crossed a mountain before. Davion had. Happily, Marci had taken every word of his advice seriously. She had annoyed Mirana a little by insisting on buying what might have seemed to be unnecessary. But Mirana was used to be her stubbornness, and she knew that Marci had their best interests—Mirana's especially—in mind.

Mirana was currently not in a receptive mood where Davion was concerned. She was keen to hurry across the mountains as soon as possible.

But Davion knew that they needed to be cautious. He knew of a relatively safe path which led past the Dragon Knight keep perched amongst the peaks. The keep had been manned by soldiers from Haupstadt once, but it had been given to the Dragon Knights since Haupstadt had seen little point in keeping it. The Dragon Knights continued to call it Weiß Wache.

It was a dangerous place. Even that "safe" path was not all that safe.

At least they would avoid the caves. A swath of the mountains was honeycombed by a series of caverns hewn by hands unknown long ago. There were even underground rivers, freezing but somehow flowing in spite of the cold.

Nobody had explored the caves. The few who had tried had never emerged to reveal their secrets.

More than a few Dragon Knights had died in the mountains. Some were claimed by the weather, others by the dragons which turned up in the peaks, others simply vanished and were never seen again. Davion had no desire for Marci and Mirana to join them.

Marci held out the pick she had bought, wanting to see if Davion approved. 'Looks fine,' he told her. 'Hopefully we won't need it.' It could always be used as a weapon.

'How long do you think it'll take us to cross?' Mirana asked, packing in the fur-lined cloaks.

'A week, maybe. It depends on the weather.' Davion looked to the peaks. 'It doesn't look too bad now, but that can change quickly.'

Marci was clearly uneasy. Davion reached out and gave her narrow shoulder a little squeeze. 'We'll be fine. I've crossed the Peaks before. Looks like I made it.'

She smiled, her abdomen twitching minutely in a small laugh. With the lack of sound, most would have found it strange or maybe even disturbing.

It didn't disturb him at all. The smile and laughter just made her look cute in his eyes.

He was still learning to comprehend the signs and whistles she used. There was a lot to learn, and they had only been at it for a couple of days. She was infinitely patient with him, and he was starting to pick up the basics. Despite the fact that they would likely be parting soon, he was still keen to learn. If he was not going to see her again, then he wanted to spend as much time around her as possible.

Why, he was not entirely sure. That was just how he felt. Marci intrigued him.

Mirana fastened the last of the saddlebags. Poor Sagan seemed to be carrying an army's worth of stuff now. He clambered to his feet, grunting and huffing as he acclimatised to the extra weight. Marci stroked the top of his head and whistled quietly. Sagan rubbed his head against her shoulder, emitting a rumbling purr.

'Time to go.' Mirana announced, slinging her pack across her back. 'Come, Sagan.'

Sagan padded after her. They would reach the foot of the mountains within the next two days. If all went well, they would be across in just over a week.

Of course, nothing had really gone to plan so far.

Davion was tempted to avoid Weiß Wache and follow them onwards. He wanted to know what they were after, and he wanted to help them. They had saved him twice, without any need to. He owed them, especially Marci.

He did not want to let her down.

Marci whistled to get his attention and made a sign with her hands, watching him expectantly.

'Uh... breakfast?'

Marci shook her head and repeated herself.

'Dinner?'

Marci grinned.

Mirana took Sagan's rein and kept her eyes on the forest. Normally, she would have reminded Marci to keep her eyes open. She made an exception this time. Even though Davion would likely not be with them for much longer, Marci clearly enjoyed his company. Even she had to admit that she would miss Davion when he left, especially since he made Marci happy.


The song had changed.

For his kind, the Thunder was ever present, ever guiding, ever clear. He heard it in waking and in sleep, the song which connected every one of his kind.

There was a new note in the Thunder. It was a clamouring, sour note. It did not belong.

Its origin was far away. Far away for a creature forced to walk upon the ground. But for one with wings, it was not such a long journey.

The song had to change. The Thunder had be restored to its original purity.

A terrible shadow passed through the clouds, swooping out of sight and sound. The lesser creatures below did not frighten him in the slightest, he had killed a great many of them. There was nothing they could do to stop him. Nothing. Not even the vaunted Dragon Knights had been able to end him.

He would find that wrong note in the beautiful song, and he, Vylgranox, the Outcast and the Arbiter, Eldwurm unrecognised, would purge it from existence.


This dragon was not the first, and she would not be the last.

The ruby-scaled dragon was both magnificent and ugly. Her scales were beautiful, her nature was savage.

She roared, flames spilling from her jaws and billowing over her steely fangs. Violet eyes burned through the eddies of snow.

The man standing before her lifted his mighty sword. It was ridiculously large. It should have been impossible for a mortal man to lift, let alone swing.

The dragon roared again, enraged. The man was wearing armour made from the remains of the desecrated corpses of her kin. He was stealing power he did not deserve, using it to destroy more dragons.

Clad in his ugly black scale and plate, the man advanced without fear or hesitation. His feet did not slip in the deep snow, the cold had no grip on him.

He leapt aside, avoiding the next burst of flame. He was impossibly fast and agile despite the weight of his armour. The blade of his sword bit deep into the ruby-scaled dragon's flank. Hot blood sprayed, turning the snow it struck to vapour.

Howling with pain and apoplexy, the dragon bent her neck and snapped at her attacker. The sword came round again, cleaving deep into the neck. It was not enough to kill her or paralyse her, and she recoiled, tried to spin round to swipe the man with her spiny tail.

The man ducked under it and retaliated by severing the tail with a single blow. The dragon howled again, staggering with blood gushing from her tail, turning the snow into pink, steaming slush.

There was a flash of purple light. The man rushed at the dragon, the light becoming a burning flare.

His sword plunged into the heart of the dragon. He pushed it in up to the hilt and yanked it free with a mighty pull, his muscles augmented by the magic imbued in his armour.

The dragon wailed, the sound surprisingly feeble for such a powerful creature. He watched with satisfaction and pride as she toppled, shaking the ground with her impact. The snow hissed about her, steaming away into the sky.

The Dragon Knight Kaden held up his sword. His men came with chains and lashed them about the dragon's body. It would not be easy to drag the body all the way to Weiß Wache, but it would be worth it.

Kaden took the chains attached to the head and began to pull, assisted by his men.

One day, the world would be free from the menace of the dragons, even if he had to kill every single one of them himself.

Every single one.


This was a bit of an odd section to write, and not just because of Fymryn and her friends.

Getting into Davion's head is surprisingly easy but also strange, since we don't always think alike. In my defence, I know that people bond quickly under stress—it's a well known phenomenon. As for Fymryn, she will hopefully have a meaningful presence in the story—she has to since I've chosen to include her, I hate throwing away useful characters—but the focus will still mainly be on Davion, Marci and Mirana.

I have done a little research on muteness, but from what I've seen in the series Marci only whistles, so I'll be sticking to that. I also apologise to any German-speakers who might be reading this, I only know a few German words and phrases, but I had to call the Dragon Knight redoubt something, and given the relative proximity to Haupstadt I thought that a name derived from German words would be suitable. It's supposed to be either "White Sentry" or "White Watch".

Lastly, I have looked up information on the Eldwurms, and I will explain Vylgranox's purpose, presence and role later. My thanks to Gamma-X for thoughts on the matter, they're much appreciated.