Luminous

21 - The Aftermath

The sound of flapping wings drifted further, then trailed away into silence. Gillian and his bandits had summoned their dragons and fled, likely to the western empire Nostra whence they hailed, and with them left her once-in-a-lifetime chance of joining the Greeneye folk.

However, when Coris's men lit torches, and light flooded the area, Meya realized her guess might not have been entirely correct.

Not the Nostra part. The summoned their dragons part.

Scraps of torn clothes were strewn all over the hilltop where Gillian, Dockar and their twenty comrades used to stand. Of course, Meya had heard tales of how the Nostran dragon riders hailed fireballs from over Neverend Heights to quell Latakia's rebellion. Still, the bards had never mentioned those riders were butt-naked.

Even if they were, how could they have torn their clothes to these many shreds in a flash (no pun intended) like that?

The other witnesses seemed to have arrived at the same puzzling conclusion. Simon gawked at Gillian and Dockar's torn clothes on the grass. Christopher knelt to examine what appeared to be the hind half of someone's linen underpants, then held it for a beagle to sniff.

Coris and Zier picked themselves to their feet. Now that the bandits trying to kill them had scrammed, the Hadrian brothers were killing each other instead;

"All this time you've been awake! Why didn't you run?"

Coris bellowed as he shoved Zier's hands off him. Meya had never seen the genial, soft-spoken prodigy so livid. He snatched Zier's collar, his eyes flashing, his nostrils flaring and Zier, a head taller and twice as broad, was scared crapless.

"I—but—I don't—" He sputtered, eyes wide and pleading, "You heard them. If they know I'm awake, they'll know The Axel's—"

"—And I could've silenced them all if it weren't for your idiotic lollygagging stunt!"

Coris drowned out the rest of Zier's excuses. Zier cowered, arms held over his face as his brother shook him by the neck.

"At least I could've captured them for questioning. You risked the lives of everyone involved then left me to clean it all up for when Father arrives. Six years, Zier! Have you learned nothing? How many more graves do I have to dig to get air through your skull? Haven't you taken enough of my life?"

"Coris! Enough!"

Christopher shouted. Coris flung Zier off, and Simon pranced forth to catch him. Zier stood pale and rigid, staring straight ahead. Catching himself, Coris crumpled onto the grass, head in his hands, trembling with sobs.

Meya rose and stumbled towards them, hardly feeling the grass crunch under her feet.

So, Coris had lied again. The Axel was neither inside him nor hidden in the castle. It had been inside Zier all this time, and Coris had played Meya like a traveling bard's puppet show. What for? That stupid Axel? Again?

Meya clenched her hands into fists. The yeomen drew apart as she strode in, gawking at her in alarm.

As she approached his wretched form, Meya drew back her arm, poised to let fly. Heavy footsteps rushed to her side. A rough hand grasped her wrist.

Meya started and spun around; Sir Jarl, the Marshal, master of the stables and kennels. His hand was firm, but his eyes were pleading. Meya's breath left her when she saw the broken figure he carried in his other arm.

A white greyhound, his coat drenched in dark red. She would've called his name, but someone else beat her to it,

"Beau!"