Dorin and I were immediately on edge, and it only took moments for L’aera to leap from her nest-cavern and glide to the scout’s side. Whispers and cries of alarm echoed from the rest.

  “How many? Where?” L’aera demanded.

  “Due east, by the elder tree. More than I could count. They hid beneath the trees, but there were scores and scores of them!”

  Next to me, Dorin tensed and his magic flared. “That’s not far from Felsporo.”

  “And the dryad who lives there? What of her?” L’aera asked, but the scout shook her head.

  “I didn’t see her. Only her tree.”

  “I see. Get rest, wing sister, you’ve done well.”

  “With respect, Mother,” the scout said. “I would like to join the fight. I am rested enough.”

  “Very well.” L’aera turned, raising her voice so that all could hear. “Wake the night patrol! They shall remain to guard the nest from harm. Every other scout with me! I will need ten blood singers for support, the rest are under K’esil’s command here.”

  Feathers filled the air as harpies flitted to and fro, organizing themselves into smaller groups called wing-tip trios. Each trio had two scouts and a blood singer, who would fly and fight together as a unit. Voices raised in song, and each trio harmonized together before adding their voices to the group.

  “Sisters! We fly to protect the elder tree! If the tree dies, then the dryad will die with it and our forest will lose a powerful guardian against the darkness! We cannot let that happen!”

  “What about us?” Dorin called.

  The wing mother shook her head. “Ground walkers cannot keep up. We will need speed to make it in time.”

  The wing mother’s declaration allowed no room for argument. She let out a piercing shriek, then began singing her War Minuette. Each harpy in the group joined the harmony, and I could feel and see the powerful communal magic growing with every harpy that joined. It rippled through the air in a current that made my slime tingle, even if I wasn’t one of the targets.

  The trios formed together into a flight formation, and they circled into the sky before flying east. The few harpies who remained retreated into the nest, likely to seek out K’esil and receive their tasks.

  “I guess that’s that, then,” Dorin muttered. His fists were clenched tightly, and his jaw was tight. His eyes looked eastward, following the last trace of the harpies long after they disappeared over the treetops.

  But something didn’t sit right with me. A sick feeling of unease twisted around my core. Even if I couldn’t go with the harpies, on account of their speed and my complete refusal to let them carry me in the air, I still felt bad for being left behind.

  “What if they get hurt?” I wondered. “I won’t be there to heal them.”

  “By the time we get there, the battle will probably be over,” Dorin grumbled. “They’ll drive the shamblers away from the dryad, then they’ll be back with their injured.”

  “Where will they drive the shamblers to?”

  “Maybe east. Maybe south.”

  That was enormously unhelpful to me, having never seen a map of the region. Even if Dorin had one, I probably wouldn’t be able to read it, since it would be written in ink and paper rather than magic. I expanded my slime in a very frustrated burst before letting it settle back to my normal size.

  “That’s where Felsporo is,” Dorin explained, seeing my frustration.

  My core skipped a pulse. If the harpy scout was right, there could be hundreds of shamblers. The harpies could remain airborne, leaving a much lower risk of any of them being seriously harmed. But the humans? Would their walls hold against an army?

  Without another word, I began hopping toward the tree line. In my core, I knew that it would be a long journey, especially at my speed, but I had to know if the humans were safe.

  “Where are you going?” Dorin asked.

  “To Felsporo. L’aera never said we had to stay here.”

  “You won’t be able to heal them. They’re human. They’ll fear you.”

  I didn’t stop. “But I can fight better than most of the defenders.”

  Dorin frowned for a moment before taking a deep breath. When he was done, he let his hair down and jogged to catch up. “In that case, could you use a lift?”

  Samri slammed the door behind him, drawing the eyes of every patron in the tavern. He didn’t care. Most of them were guards relaxing after the end of their shifts—guards who gave up. They should have been out at the gates, digging for his father instead of drinking themselves under the table!

  A few of them raised mugs to him, quietly saluting the man they left to die. The boy looked down at the floor, his hands clenching and unclenching. He wanted nothing more than to punch every one of their sour, drunken faces. It was what they deserved!

  The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  “Samri, welcome back,” Aunt Samara called from behind the bar. She wiped a rag across the bar, preparing for the next customer as if the room hadn’t gone quiet at his entrance.

  Her voice shocked Samri from his stupor, and he sniffed and walked to the bar. Samara quickly filled a cup with milk and set it before him. Some of the regulars went back to their conversations, but Samri didn’t say a word.

  “I heard you went to the gates again today,” Samara asked gently. “How is the guard captain? He was expecting Lord Pelslow to arrive today. Do you know if he made it?”

  The boy shook his head. “I wasn’t there for the gossip.”

  From the knowing look on her face, Samara already knew that. She took a deep breath, running her hands along her dark braids that were so unlike the rest of her family. Most Ironclaws had blond or red hair, like Samri and his father respectively. Some rare ones, like his sister Tanev, had even lighter hair bordering on white. But Samara’s father was a foreigner from the Flasgrath Empire in the far east. The wandering merchant fell in love during a trade visit, and chose to settle down in the complete middle of nowhere that was Felsporo.

  Samri didn’t understand why anyone would do that. His mother was from the capital and worked in one of the noble households as a knight or something, but for some reason, she and his dad chose to give up all their magic and levels just to settle down in a land where mankind was never meant to live. Monsters could grow in this wilderness, but humans had their magic drained away until they were pitiful and helpless.

  At least, until recently. A few weeks before he…fell…his dad had noticed a shift in the magics that drained levels. His mana had returned to him, and with it, Samri felt a surge of hope. All the dreams he once fostered about his dad teaching him to wield a flaming sword in one hand and a blistering shield in the other blossomed with infinite possibilities. His dad even promised that they’d start as soon as he was sure the change was safe. Samri didn’t understand what could possibly be unsafe about humans having mana again. It seemed like purely a good thing.

  Now, though…

  “They gave up, Aunt Samara,” Samri whispered, his hand trembling around the mug’s handle. “They gave up looking for him.”

  Samara looked down. Her lip trembled, and Samri knew she didn’t know what to say.

  Just last week, all the guards in the tavern were giving their most cheerful “Keep your chin up, lad” and “We’ll find him in no time, don’t you worry!” They assured Samri, Samara, and Tanev that they wouldn’t stop looking for Dorin until they found him.

  Apparently, adults lie, Samri thought bitterly. The guard captain called a stop to the digging that afternoon. They said that he was buried too deep, and that the pressure would have already killed him by now. If not the pressure, then he surely would have suffocated after the first day, let alone the two weeks that followed.

  “What did the captain say?” Samara asked softly, her voice trembling even as she clearly tried to stop it.

  “That it’s a ‘waste of resources’,” he answered, unable to keep the bitter edge from his words. “That they’d only find a corpse!” Samri’s voice grew louder with every word as the anguish inside him bubbled over. “They said there was no hope left! That he’s…that he’s…”

  Samara set her rag down and rounded the bar. In a swift motion, she pulled her nephew into a tight hug.

  “Shhh, little dragon. It’s okay.”

  “It’s NOT okay!” he shouted. “He was the strongest one in town! He had levels! He was unstoppable!”

  Several guards shook their heads in sympathy, while others simply stared into their cups. He was making a scene, throwing a tantrum like he hadn’t thrown since he was eight, but he didn’t care in the slightest. Were the guards uncomfortable? Good. Maybe they’d pick their shovels back up! Were they sympathetic? Then they should find his dad!

  “He’s still alive!” he screamed before burying his face in Samara’s shoulder. “He has to be!”

  Samara tried to say something, but her voice failed her. In the end, all she could do was hold him close and run her hand along his hair.

  Three stools down, a withered old man put down his mug. “No one is invincible, lad. Not even your dad.”

  “Don’t say that! You don’t know!” he shouted.

  “Shhh, Samri, Master Oaksen was just being thoughtless,” Samara said.

  “It’s not thoughtless if it's true.”

  “Quiet,” the barmistress barked, assuming the stern voice she reserved especially for violent drunks. Once he went back to his drink, her voice softened and she turned her attention back to Samri. “I know it’s hard, dragon, but things will be okay. Your dad loved you and your sister more than anything. Given the choice between his life and yours, he would make the same choice every time.”

  “But he’s not dead…he can’t be,” he whimpered. “He can’t be…”

  Because, if he was, then it would be Samri’s fault. It was his idea to sneak out of town that day. It was he who found the crack in the wall and convinced Jaden and Tanev to go out for a little fun. If Dorin Ironclaw really was dead, then that made his son the killer.

  Samri sobbed into his aunt’s arms while she continued to soothe him, and it was several long minutes before he ran out of tears. He wanted to cry more, to cry a whole river that the cowardly guards might drown in, but his eyes hurt, and there were no tears left.

  Samara sighed, then stood. “If I come back and find any of your grubby paws in my fine liquor, I’ll charge it to everyone in the room.”

  Several of her regulars chuckled, knowing full well that she meant every word. Then, she put a hand on Samri’s back and led him to the stairs. The upper floor served as an inn for the few people who wandered into the backwater town, but since that was rare, Samara had put Samri and Tanev in one of the guest rooms rather than letting them stay unsupervised in their home. As they ascended the stairs, Samri heard the whispers that followed them.

  “Poor Samara, she’ll never find a husband with kids like that around her neck.”

  “Never even got the chance to look.”

  “You think that spitfire could raise kids? Ha! She’s not fit to raise a harpy, let alone a child.”

  “I heard that!” she barked, shutting the comments up entirely. In a softer voice she whispered to Samri. “Don’t let them get to you. They’re just drunken gossips looking for someone to bother.”

  “Are we really a burden to you?” Samri asked, feeling even worse at the possibility that he killed his father and ruined his favorite aunt’s life.

  She shook her head. “Nah. You’re helping me, remember? You cleared tables last night, and Tanev helped in the kitchen. That’s super helpful to me.”

  Samri wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t have any more energy to argue. It was only early evening, but he wanted nothing more than to curl up in his bed and sleep for a year. Apparently, Tanev had had the same idea, since they found the silver-haired girl already sleeping in their shared room.

  “Rest, Samri,” Samara urged. “I’ll make sure to have something for you to eat when you wake.”

  He couldn’t resist. She opened her mouth to sing a gentle lullaby in old draconic, one passed down from his great grandmother. His eyes drooped and he fell into a deep sleep.

  When he woke, it was to the sound of bells ringing over the town. Tanev sat up next to him, her eyes wide with fear as she clutched her favorite stuffed dragon.

  “What’s happening?” she whispered.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  A moment later, the door slammed open. Samara stood in the way, a fully loaded crossbow in her hand. Samri might have thought the image impressive if he weren’t so terrified that his usually calm aunt was wielding weapon.

  “Get up. We have to move. Samri, take your mother’s sword.”

  “What?!” He normally wasn’t allowed to touch his mother’s sword, let alone wield it.

  “Get it!” Samara hissed. “The town gates just fell. The shamblers are inside the walls.”