Unbound

“Thrust!” Selin shouted, and fifteen Dragoons stabbed forward with identical spears.

“Parry!” Morag commanded. “Guard!”

The movements continued, over and over. Sometimes the words changed, but mostly it was the same. Thrust. Parry. Guard. The Dragoons were nothing if not dedicated to mastering the fundamentals of spearwork. Felix watched them when he wasn’t busy inscribing. Between doing the grunt work of the forge and acting as Mana batteries for Harn’s furnace or smithing, training was all they did.

Eat, work, train, sleep.

While their dedication was inspiring, Felix was mostly amused that every drill they practiced was extremely familiar, having been taught to his Legion by Darius Reed. The Chosen Hand of the Duke of Pax’Vrell had never been a Dragoon, by his own admission. He was what Vess called a Drakeguard, high level soldiers in her father’s personal army. Now, they weren’t strictly allowed to have a personal army by the Hierophant, so they were called a peace keeping force or something. The Drakeguard were trained in ways very similar to the Dragoons, and were even granted honorary status among them in some cases. So it made sense that he’d pass that along.

Hm. Are they all as agile and strong as Vess? He’d already seen them summon their Spears of Tribulation like Vess, so he imagined they had similar Skills all around. Felix could use an army like that—even a small one. Decked out in Harn’s custom, enchanted gear, and we could really make a difference. Not to mention all the conscripted villagers that had joined up as well.

A great deal of the armor and weapons Harn was making was going to them; the weakest by far and most likely to find their gear a serious boon. High steel and mithril armor, with a bevy of weapons to choose from? If it weren’t for the conscripted soldiers sheer lack of experience, Felix would have felt confident in infiltrating Pax’Vrell that night.

As it was, there was still work to be done.

“Thrust!”

The Dragoon slid mithril spears through their hands, the inscriptions on their hafts quiescent. They forwent activating the enchantments in order to keep the monster cores as full as possible, but the weapons were immaculately balanced and preternaturally sharp. The Dragoons were impressed; Felix could tell that just by how the warriors held them. They cradled them like their own children.

“What is this?”

Through the door at the far side of the forge, Captain Tarok stood framed by the archway. The Dragoons ceased their movements immediately at a gesture from Selin, and the spears dropped butt first to the ground as each of them saluted.

“Well, lieutenant?” Tarok said, folding his thick arms across his armored chest. “I’m waiting.”

Selin swallowed, but was still working his mouth when Morag spoke up. “Sir, we are training while Master Harn rests between production waves.”

“Training, for all eyes to see?” Tarok glanced over Harn and Evie disdainfully, before finding Felix sitting in the back. He stiffened and looked back to his lieutenants. “Exposing our methods. This is not our way.”

“Sir—”

Tarok held up a hand, silencing Morag as he walked over to Harn’s table, eyeballing the weapons that were being polished by Evie. “I admit, your skill is worthwhile, smith. This is quality work.”

“Hm,” Harn grunted.

“But it is not soldiers’ work. They have wasted enough time here, and I would see them released.”

Felix etched another sigil, paying only partial attention to the Dragoon Captain. He had work to do himself, and Harn could handle the guy.

“Sure,” Harn said. A soft, tremulous hum filled the room before fading as Felix felt the Oath release. “They can go if they want. If they wanna return, they’ll be under the same Oath as before, though.”

“Yes. Your Oath,” Tarok said, a sneer not quite exposing itself. “I had to swear something similar to your Golems of all things. That I would only enter to speak to my soldiers.”

The Eidolons can Oathbind? Felix chewed on his lip. Huh.

“This was our place before you ever squatted here, smith. Know that we will hold it once again.” Tarok spun from Harn back to his men. “Come. We have true practice to engage in, for our war comes to us on swift feet. We shall rise to meet it."

Tarok began to walk out, but when none of his Dragoons followed, he fumed. “You—” he caught Felix's eye from across the room and closed his mouth. He swallowed, and adjusted his jacket. "I'll not gainsay your Oaths. It was your right to choose, after all. Just know that the Dragoons expect more from their recruits than this, especially its officers, Selin. Morag."

The Half-Elf tried unsuccessfully to shrink down into himself and disappear. Harn frowned, and his anger pulsed hot and heavy from his Spirit. "Don’t know much about Dragoons, but your recruits helped a bunch. Without them, all of this wouldn't be possible.”

Tarok sniffed. "Indeed, without us," he seemed to restrain himself and changed his tack, his voice turning more pleasant. "The Dragoons follow a pure cause. We are meant to fight the monstrous forces that once tried to crush our people. And now we must turn it against an old foe after showing our belly for centuries. We cannot afford weakness and we cannot afford to stray from tradition. For tradition is strength. And together we stand."

With that, Terok stomped out. After some furtive looks around them, a few Dragoons followed him, but the majority stayed, glancing at one another and the weapons in their hands. And finally, at Harn. The warrior-smith waved them off. "Go after him. We're just about done here anyway."

Bowing and grateful, the Dragoons left, placing the borrowed weapons back upon their racks. As they did so, they buttoned up their coats and hastily combed their hair into place with their fingertips.

"I—” Selin said as he paused near Harn, "Thank you." Then the Half-Elf, along with all of the officers and recruits, filed out of the forge, close on their captain's heels.

"Huh," Evie said. "I expected sourface to say something way worse.”

“Well, hopefully they all learned something from their time. Discipline, perhaps. Or perhaps not,” Harn said with a sigh. He looked over at Felix. “But we must keep an eye on the Dragoons, kid. Vess’ been having trouble with them, I hear. That Tarok…he’s a hard one.”

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“Bunch of stuck-up pricks," Evie muttered. “I honestly exacted him to throw a punch at you.”

Harn chuckled. “He’s not stupid. He lost a lot of power havin’ to come down here to collect his troops. He wasn’t about to lose even more by startin’ a fight, even if he could win.”

"Oh. I guess I see that.” Evie picked up a piece of fruit and munched on it thoughtfully. “Anyway, Vess’ been avoiding the Dragoons the whole time we’ve been here. They hate her bond, not to mention how much folks around her don’t like how the Daynes just rolled over for the Hierocracy.”

“Not much choice there,” Felix said.

“I doubt there was. But people are people, I guess. They’ll latch onto any dumb thing.” Evie gestured vaguely upward. “Vess and the lizard were working on a solution, last I knew."

Felix stood, setting aside Harn's axe. "Do me a favor, Evie. Go check on her. See if she needs any help. And if you see any Dragoons harassing her—”

“Knock their teeth out?"

Felix smiled. "Politely, please."

Vess trudged into her room, dirty and sweaty from her trip and eager for a bath. She stripped off her jacket, a simple padded leather one she borrowed from her aunt, and set her satchel on her bed. It had been another rough day. Yintarion’s ritual needed a wide variety of materials, many of which defied reason. She had traveled farther than she had expected, going around the mountain, the swamps, and the forest.

Today she had ended up at the edge of the foothills, which was about as close as she could get to the low stone wall that marked the boundary of the Eastern Reaches and her father's former rule. Vess looked down at her satchel. It contained the last bits and pieces of what Yintarian needed before he could make his attempt at an Evolution. She reached inside, pulling free a splintered piece of wood, rough with char. Yintarion hadn’t needed it, but she did.

There was a town there, at the border of the Eastern Reaches and the Rimefangs. It was a place she could not recall the name of but remembered visiting once, ten or more years prior. She had hoped that a sign would remain to tell her the town’s name, but all that was left was a charred stump where the sign once stood. The two inns, handfuls of shops, and over two dozen homes that once made up the town were gone. All that remained were scarred fields, stone foundations, and a few upright posts, dissolving in the winds.

Why do this? She clenched the piece of wood, but not so hard that it broke. Tears tried to gather behind her eyes but failed. She felt as dry as the charred splinter. What possible benefit would come from destroying so many?

Vess felt such sorrow for her people that it nearly overwhelmed her. After everything she had been through, to find such wanton slaughter was beyond her understanding. The Hierocracy was capable of such terrible things, she knew that, but never had they touched so close to her home. She closed her still-dry eyes and breathed through the grief. Her heart was broken and she couldn’t even shed a tear.

“Hello? Vessilia, dear, are you decent?”

Vess started, the splinter going into her pocket before she nervously smoothed her blouse. “Yes, I am. Please, come in.” Her aunt and, surprisingly, her uncle walked into her bed chamber. The warrior woman wore a woolen gown and he wore a simple, if finely made tunic and breeches. “You two look ready for bed. How can I help you, Auntie? Uncle?”

Aunt Verona smiled kindly. “Oh, we just wanted to make sure you had eaten and oh! Your hair is frazzled and your skin is so smudged. Is that soot?”

Vess self-consciously rubbed at her cheek. “Oh. Yes it is.”

“What have you been, child?” Auntie Verona asked, dipping a cloth into a wash basin.

Vess allowed her aunt to wash her face, tamping down her vague annoyance. “I was gathering the necessary ingredients for a ritual for my Companion.”

Uncle Patrim's mouth twisted. “The Dragon.”

Vess nodded slowly. “Yes, Yintarion. My Companion,” she stressed.

“What sort of ritual,” her uncle asked. “Is it unnatural?”

“Unnatural? No, it is so he can reach his first Evolution.”

Her aunt stepped back, damp cloth in her hand and exchanged glances with her husband. Vess could tell that an entire relationship's worth of silent communication flittered between them in the few seconds it took. Silent or not, Vess could feel them. They were afraid.

“Auntie. Uncle. You do not need to fear him. Yintarion would not harm me or those I deemed my allies.”

“It is a dangerous beast,” her uncle said. “Weak now, but how long before it dominates our skies?”

“He is dangerous, yes, and it is good that he is,” Vess insisted. “With his aid, we will take back Pax’Vrell. Once he Evolves, we can—”

“No, you cannot risk evolving such a—” Her aunt cut herself off and took a breath. “Discard it. Dissolve your bond.”

Vess took a step away from her relatives. “What? What are you talking about?”

“You must. The Dragoons won't follow you otherwise, and our first step upon returning to the territory is to earn the scattered Dragoons' loyalty. They are key to winning this war.”

Vess stared at her aunt and uncle. She heard their words, but they were nonsense. “I refuse.”

“The creature is not meant to be alive, let alone bonded. We looked aside because we were so happy to see you still breathing, but now you must grow up and lead your people. It must be a Dane. Our family has held the authority of this territory for nearly an age, and we will regain it.”

“Authority is not my concern, Auntie. Saving my father is my priority.”

“And if we cannot?” Patrum said, his voice grim. “If my brother is already dead, what then?”

Vess clenched her jaw. “Then I will do as I must, but that is a far cry from denying my bond with my Companion. The Dragons were our allies, Uncle, and afforded us great power. They can be again.”

“So they can betray us, as they did in the ancient past?”

“They did not betray us,” Vess started, but her aunt’s outrage drowned her out.

“What nonsense are you speaking? We know that they did.”

“No. The histories were wrong. We betrayed the Dragons.”

“Impossible. Our honor and Oaths would have forbidden us from doing so. Only the Dragons were strong enough to rend our Oaths!”

“I have not found out how or why. Not yet. I am still searching for proof that will convince the others, but I know it to be true.

“You know,” her aunt repeated dully. “Did the Dragon tell you this?”

Vess frowned. “I found out the truth through viewing my Companion’s memories. There was little doubt in what occurred.”

“But have you not considered that the Dragon altered those memories? That he lies?”

“We are bonded. He cannot lie without me sensing it.”

“Or he is too wily for you to comprehend. You said that he was an ancient Dragon, no? What tricks has such a creature learned across entire ages? What deceptions?”

“This is foolishness. Cast the Dragon aside, Vesillia,” Uncle Patrum demanded. “We will not ask you again.”

A breeze stirred in her chamber, guttering the magelights before becoming far more fierce. “You do not command me, Uncle. I have withstood horrors to be here today.” Vess stepped forward, her Spirit swelling from within her core. “Horrors that Yinterion helped me survive when no one else could. I will not abandon him.”

“You will or you will lose the Dragoons!” Her uncle hissed. “See reason, Vessilia! You—”

“Silence.” Her Spirit slammed into them, settling on their shoulders until they could barely stand. She pointed to their chamber door. “And get out.”

Uncle Patrum left, doing his best to remain furious despite his pale complexion and quailing Spirit. Auntie Verona lingered, casting a long look back at her. “Please, Vessillia. Consider…consider what your mother would have wanted.”

She left, and Vess was alone.

Shaken, grieving, and still unable to cry.

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