Through A Dragon's Eyes_A Reverse Harem Fantasy Read online

  Dela reared back and clamped her hand to her mouth. “Oh, by the Gods!”

  The woman’s eyes were filled with blood.

  Huda blinked, and blood ran in twin rivulets down her cheeks. She opened her mouth to speak, but instead of words, more blood appeared in a bubble between her lips.

  Dela scrambled back in horror. She wanted to help, but she didn’t know what she was supposed to do. She had no medical training. Being the youngest child of two, she hadn’t even been there at the birth of her sibling. Could the woman have been ill before they’d set out? Dela hadn’t noticed her appearing to be sick, but this might just be a coincidence.

  The woman’s ears were bleeding now. Blood, so much blood.

  Huda coughed and choked and made a strange gurgling sound before falling face down on the bridge. Dela darted forward again, meaning to try to help in any way she could, but something made her stop. The bridge moved beneath Huda, the ground suddenly becoming wet, like sand on the coast. A few of the others had hesitantly started to approach to see if there was anything they could do to help, but Dela waved them away.

  “Move back!” she cried. “Get away!”

  The woman wriggled and squirmed. The blood seemed to mix with the brick of the bridge, which now didn’t look like brick at all. Dela could barely believe what she was seeing. The more the woman tried to fight, the less solid the stone she was lying on became, until eventually she began to sink.

  “We need something for her to hold onto,” she cried.

  But the woman barely seemed able to lift her own head, never mind drag herself to safety. She wasn’t even screaming any longer, but instead continued with those horrific gurgles until those fell silent, too.

  The liquid stone rose up, like two arms on either side of her, surrounding her as though in an embrace, and then pulled her down. She vanished into the rock, and the moment she disappeared from view, the rock became solid again. Other than the smears of blood she’d left behind, it was as though she’d never even been there.

  Dela stared at the spot, breathing hard and trembling all over. Then she turned and ran across the bridge to the other side and down the side of the bank to get a look beneath the bridge in the same place the woman had vanished. Could she have come through the other side? But no, there was nothing. It looked exactly as it had when she’d checked the first time.

  People were softly crying in shock. Spilled bags of grain from where the oxen had spooked lay on the road.

  Nobody moved or spoke for a moment, a sense of disbelief over what they’d just witnessed falling over them all. Layla cried into her hands, and Dela went back to where she was standing to put her arm around her friend’s shoulder. Her own eyes were dry, but her head was spinning. She felt as though she’d just walked into a nightmare.

  She’d seen magic before, but they were parlor games—making something vanish and reappear, or changing a dove to a rabbit. Though she’d heard tales, she’d never seen anything like that.

  “It’s sorcery!” someone cried, breaking the silence.

  Another person yelled, “Witchcraft!”

  Norton grunted. “No, the devil claimed his soul payment.”

  They had no choice but to move on. There was nothing they could do for the woman now.

  They would need to come back this way, and would have to come back over the bridge again. People set about calming the oxen and hauling the sacks of grain back onto the cart.

  Dela peered into the distance, to where the jagged tips of the mountains rose into the innocuously bright blue sky. This was only the start.

  There would be far worse ahead.

  Chapter 7

  Warsgra

  “We’re moving out!”

  Warsgra beckoned his strange mixture of fellow travelers with a wave of his arm and kicked the flanks of his massive mountain goat to get him moving. He set his sights on the journey ahead. They were only a matter of a few hours from the entrance to the Southern Pass, and right now Warsgra just wanted to get this whole thing over with.

  Just having the other two races around irritated him. The Elvish leader, Vehel, refused to eat his boar, which was insulting enough.

  The Moerian, Orergon, was slightly less annoying, but his inability to tolerate the cold riled Warsgra. Orergon and his companions always seemed to get the best spot beside the fire, which made him clench his teeth and ball his fists in annoyance. Then the dark-skinned man went through a ridiculous routine of kneeling and praying to the mountain Gods, as though that would make the blindest bit of difference. The Gods did whatever the hell the Gods wanted, and getting on your knees wasn’t going to change anything.

  His clansman, Jultu, clapped him on the back. “Only another seven more nights or so, and we’ll all go our separate ways.” He’d clearly sensed his leader’s irritation.

  Warsgra grunted. “Only if things run smoothly, which you can never bet on. And even then, seven nights is seven nights too long.”

  They were a strange crew, that was for sure, with the Elvish on their deer, and the Moerians on horseback. The Norcs preferred to ride huge mountain goats, big enough to take their weight, surefooted enough to find their own way along the mountain passes, and tough enough to be used in battle. Perhaps the other races found their choice of ride strange, but a goat as large as his was far hardier than a horse, which, other than its hooves, had no form of defense. His goat, with its massive curled horns, could crush a man’s ribs if it butted him, and Warsgra would always choose an animal with that kind of power behind it than a horse.

  He had a saddle made up only of animal skin, and rope tied around the goat’s horns gave him some control, though he trusted the animal’s choice in route more than his own. It seemed to have a natural instinct for which rocks would move beneath foot when stepped on, and knew to avoid them.

  Warsgra led the way, with Jultu at his side, riding an animal not quite as big as his own, but close. Behind them came a number of carts laden high with the coal his clan had mined from the sides of the mountains. Each cart was driven by another member of his clan, each with several large bison pulling it.

  The Elvish came next, riding their deer, with the leader, Vehel, on his stag. The Moerians brought up the rear, their horses’ hooves skidding occasionally against the rock and creeping ice.

  Warsgra was comfortable heading deeper into the mountains. Despite the dangers, this place was home to him and his kind. Besides, there were dangers everywhere across these lands. Just because some were more inaccessible than others, didn’t mean they should be feared any more. This wasn’t the first time he’d completed this journey, and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last.

  “How many humans do you think will survive this time?” Jultu asked him, a note of humor in his tone. “Half of what set out, or less?”

  “I’ve no idea, but every time we meet with them, I understand a wee bit more about why they settle the way they do. They’re not travelers, that’s for sure.”

  “They used to be, back before the war. They were all over these lands. It’s only since the Treaty that they’ve remained in the one place.”

  Warsgra snorted. “Then the Treaty didn’t do them any favors. I’d prefer to remain fewer in number and stronger in body than let anyone and everyone procreate and settle down, expecting to be fed and taken care of. At least with our kind, we know the weak aren’t going to survive long, and so they won’t go on to make weak babes of their own.”

  Jultu nodded in agreement. “Their strength is in numbers. A single human could be crushed in an instant, but it’s the way they keep coming and coming that has worn other folk down. It’s like a termite—barely noticeable alone, but a whole army could raze a place to the ground.”

  “Not if we squash them one by one.”

  Jultu chuckled.

  Behind them, the carts rocked and rolled. The Southern Pass was the lowest point of the Great Dividing Range, and for the most part was relatively flat—well, as flat as a mountain range got. O
n either side, the steep, jagged cliffs of the mountains rose high, blocking out the sunlight. The summit of the mountaintops meant they gathered clouds around their peaks, which also did nothing to help the amount of light down here. They could handle a few clouds. These kinds brought nothing more than the occasional snowstorm. It was when the Long White Cloud came in that they had to watch themselves. Those things could swallow people like a wave, leaving only death and destruction in their wake. It had been several years since he’d last seen it sweep across the Great Dividing Range, however. There were plenty of things in this life that brute force worked against, but the tales of the things people saw when caught inside the cloud weren’t one of them.

  An uncharacteristic shudder worked its way down Warsgra’s spine, and he hoped Jultu hadn’t noticed. Showing he was spooked was never going to be a good thing.

  The thunder of hooves approached, and he turned to see Orergon, together with one of his men, galloping up behind them. The dark-skinned man pulled his horse to a walk when he reached them.

  “Problem?” Warsgra said.

  Orergon shook his head, his twin braids shivering with the motion. “No, I just thought I would see what you think of the traveling conditions this time around.”

  “They’re fine. Same as every half-year.” A smirk touched his lips. “Why? Too cold for you already? It’s only going to get colder.”

  The Moerian wore plenty of animal skins, with furs around his shoulders and topping his boots. It was a complete contrast to Warsgra’s own outfit of loincloth, boots, and shoulder protectors. The other man didn’t have the sort of muscle he did. He guessed it meant Orergon’s bones grew cold more easily.

  “I’m fine,” the other man replied. “I figured if we have several days together, we might as well learn how to become traveling companions.”

  By some miracle of the Gods, Warsgra managed to hold back his retort. He’d rather be traveling this road alone than with this whole sorry menagerie of animals, and he wasn’t even talking about the ones with four legs.

  The Elvish appeared so weak, with their small bodies and pale skin. Yes, he knew they lived far longer than the Norcs, and the one riding somewhere behind him now was probably four times his age, but being old wasn’t something that impressed Warsgra. He wasn’t even sure how the Elvish had managed to secure their place in the Treaty. They must have used magic, because he didn’t think it had been done through battle alone.

  A number of hours after first entering the Southern Pass, they stopped for a break. There was no snow on the ground at this time of year, at least not at this altitude, so there were enough grass and shrubs for the goats, deer, and horses to graze on. The travelers divided themselves into small groups and got fires going, settling down to eat whatever rations they’d brought with them. Warsgra still had a decent chunk of the boar left over, which he shared with Jultu and his other men, all of them tearing into the meat with their teeth. He glanced over to see the Elvish chewing at their dried fish pieces and crunching into items of fruit and was unable to hold back a smirk. No wonder they didn’t grow very large. It was hardly enough to sustain a child.

  Vehel reached into the satchel at his hip and pulled out a smaller bag with a string top closing the opening. As he was sitting there, Warsgra watched him tip the contents out into his slender, pale hand.

  Warsgra swallowed the last of his meat and pushed himself to standing. Trying to appear nonchalant, he wandered over to where the Elvish prince was sitting.

  “What do the humans find so fascinating about those things?” he asked.

  Vehel looked up at him, his silver white hair falling over one shoulder of his armor. “They’re rare, and hard to find. Apparently, that makes something precious in their minds.” He tipped his palm from side to side, allowing the small, clear rocks to roll together.

  “I don’t get it,” Warsgra admitted.

  Vehel raised fine white eyebrows. “No, neither do I, but we each have things we find precious, too—certain herbs, the metal we make our armor from, the twine of the Urbubor tree that is almost invisible underwater which makes it perfect for fishing.”

  “All practical things,” Warsgra pointed out. “What possible use could they get from a few small rocks?”

  “Perhaps it will remain a mystery.” He jerked his chin toward the continuing passageway through the rock. “How much farther have we got to go before nightfall?”

  He glanced over his shoulder in the direction the Elvish prince was indicating. “A few more hours.”

  “And the temperature will drop then?”

  Warsgra frowned. “It’s not the cold you should be afraid of.”

  Vehel held his eye with his ice-blue gaze. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

  A slow smile crept across Warsgra’s lips. “Good to hear.”

  Perhaps he could grow to like this one after all.

  Chapter 8

  Dela

  The mood among the group had changed greatly since they’d left the bridge.

  Though Dela had always known this journey was going to be dangerous, it hadn’t quite seemed real until she’d watched a woman bleed to death and then be sucked though the apparently solid stone of a bridge.

  Now she saw danger in everything. In every sway of a tree branch, in every squawk of a bird, in every cough or sneeze of the people she was traveling with. She jumped at the slightest sound, and still hadn’t managed to subside the shaking that had taken over her limbs the moment the woman had started bleeding from her eyes. Had something like that happened to her brother? The Chosen who had returned from the same trip he’d been on claimed they’d been attacked by an unseen force in the mountains, but maybe they’d been lying. Perhaps they’d been trying to spare Dela and her parents all the nightmares the truth would have caused.

  The thought of Ridley dying in such a way twisted at Dela’s guts. She couldn’t help but picture him alone and terrified, and every part of her wished there was some way she could turn back the clock and change the outcome of him being part of the Chosen three years earlier. But such a thing was impossible.

  Dela made a mental promise to herself. No matter what happened to her on this journey, if she made it home again, she wouldn’t tell her parents the truth of the things she’d seen. It would be a small comfort, but at least she’d be able to give them the chance to sleep at night without being plagued by nightmares.

  Within a couple of hours, night began creeping in.

  They chose a clearing beside a small copse of trees, just off the side of the road. The trees offered them some shelter, while they were able to still see the road from east to west. They’d not come across any other travelers yet, but that didn’t mean they weren’t on the road. There were plenty of people who chose to live outside of the city walls, and those same people were known to be dangerous. Dela couldn’t help feeling, however, that the most danger lay within the things they weren’t able to see. They could fight off other people with swords and stones, but they couldn’t fight things like dark magic.

  They stopped and began to string canvas from the branches of trees to at least give them some shelter from the dangers that lurked out there. Fires were lit, water was gathered from a nearby stream, and rations were handed out to each person.

  Dela found herself settled around a fire with Layla, Brer, Norton, and another man in his thirties called Gilford. Layla had barely eaten, but instead stared into the fire, chewing on the corner of her thumbnail. Norton sat with a knife and a piece of wood, whittling it down into something Dela didn’t recognize yet. No one had mentioned directly what had happened. It seemed pointless, as they couldn’t change anything, but Dela found she couldn’t remain quiet. Thoughts and questions churned over and over in her head, and in the end she couldn’t prevent them bursting from her tongue.

  “What do we do if we come across another Devil’s Bridge? Do we try to cross it?”

  Norton’s lips pressed together. “Let’s pray to the Gods that we don’t co
me across another one.”

  “But we will, on the way back,” she insisted. “We’ll have to cross the same one again.”

  “We have to make it back alive first. But then …” He gave a hiss of exasperation and threw the piece of wood he’d been carving to the ground. “I don’t know! It’s not as though I asked to be leading up this whole thing. I was Chosen just like the rest of you. I didn’t volunteer. I don’t know anything more than anyone else.”

  The older man got to his feet and paced away from them, his head shaking. It was strange, but Dela found some comfort in his words. She didn’t like to be afraid, but it was good to know she wasn’t the only one who felt that way. It didn’t make her weak or a bad person, it just made her normal.

  “We just have to keep going.” She lifted her voice so Norton would hear. “Keep going and take care of each other the best we can. We don’t have any other choice. People do come back from the Passover. Every six months, the Chosen return. We’re not the first, and we won’t be the last, but we have to remember this isn’t a certain death sentence. People do come back.” She did her best to ignore the twisting in her gut as she remembered one of the people who hadn’t come back.

  Norton’s back was to them, but his shoulders slumped, and he turned around to face them. He ran his hand over his graying hair. “You’re right. My apologies. I didn’t mean to behave like a child.”

  She shrugged. “Apology accepted.”

  Norton came and took his place around the fire and picked up his whittling once more. Dela exchanged a glance with Layla, and her friend gave her a smile and a nod and started to eat the rations she’d been staring at for the past hour.

  Mid-morning the following day, they approached the entrance to the Southern Pass. They walked alongside the carts still laden with the bags of grain. The oxen were starting to slow after several days of walking, but they still appeared strong and unhindered by the huge weights they pulled. The same couldn’t be said of the people, and though they knew it would add more weight to the carts, they took turns hopping up on the bags of grain to give their feet a rest.