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Chapter Sixteen
Villid’s mind kept straying to what Navin had told him. It worried him, and seemed to occupy his thoughts for the entirety of the morning. If this mage, Shavon, found the scrolls he was looking for, then surely he and Aya had nothing to worry about. And there was no proof that the scrolls were about him anyway – there could be other Tyrans and
E
lves travelling together. Even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew that the chances of that were slim at best. A Tyran and an
Elf were the last pair of creatures to be friends, let alone more than friends.
Navin had said that Shavon had been talking to a woman next to him. Villid remembered the
Elf woman they had met near the Elven
part of the city. Was it possible that she had been the woman Shavon was talking to? After all, she – other than the human woman downstairs who had tended to Navin’s wounds – was the only woman who they had told about travelling together.
“Aya,” muttered Villid, as Aya was packing their supplies into a small bag. “Let’s keep our identities quiet for a little while longer. Just in case.”
“Okay,” Aya looked surprised, but nodded. “I think that’s everything.” she added, picking up the bag, which jingled slightly with the heavy gold coins, amongst what little food they had left. They agreed to replenish their food before they left the city.
Navin said he would explore Fort Valour when he felt strong enough. “I’ll be pretty lonely.” he hinted, but Villid shook his head.
“You’ll only slow us down.” he repeated.
“You said I could join you if I helped in combat!” Navin wailed.
“Stop being a baby,” he snapped. “There’s a chance we’ll be running into Darkma along the way.”
Navin jumped and muttered something, and then appeared to suddenly be very interested in the flowers on the windowsill, and stopped asking to join them.

“Wait,” Villid stopped her as they left the inn. She had pulled her hood up again, and tied a pretty blue cloak around her shoulders. He looked her up
and down. “You need a weapon
,” he said to her.
Aya nodded. Wandering the markets, she had seen fine bows and arrows, which made her roughly carved weapon look laughable. They made their way to the markets and stalls that were being set up in the early sunlight. Aya chose a sword that was long, light and sharp, with a white handle. She swung it lightly through the air a few times, and then tied it to her waist. She also chose a long, black bow and several arrows, which she tied to her back in a holder. Villid took out his money bag to pay the human merchant.
“Thank you,” the human muttered, a hood covering his face. He made to turn round, but...
“Hey!” Villid said. “You’re Mical! The human we sold the scrolls to!”
Mical looked uncomfortable. “Good afternoon,” he mumbled.
Villid eyed him suspiciously. Before he could say anything, Mical suddenly cracked.
“Look, I’m sorry!” he burst. “I know those scrolls were valuable, and I didn’t pay you even a fifth of what they’re worth – I’ll pay you back, right now, take anything...”
“What?” said Aya blankly. “The scrolls? The ones you said were Tales of Atharron, or whatever it was?”
Mical
blinked, then hastily said, “Oh, my mistake. I must be thinking of someone else...”
Villid grabbed Mical by the scruff of his neck, and suddenly raised him several feet off the ground, until his small, beady eyes were level with Villid’s dark, angry ones. “I need those scrolls.” Villid said, his voice low and dangerous. Mical gave an unintelligible squeak, his cheeks turning beetroot red. Several passers-by turned to stare, and muttered to each other.
“Villid, what are you doing?” asked Aya in shock, as Mical’s short, stumpy legs wriggled mid-air.
“Those Blood scrolls – you were selling them to a mage, weren’t you?” Villid growled.
“Shh… keep your voice down!” Mical hissed, his face turning purple. “I’ll tell you – just put me down, put me down now!”
Villid slowly lowered Mical to the ground; Mical rearranged his cloak, looking flustered and angry. “Look,” he hissed. “Don’t go yelling around like that about the
Blood scrolls. They’re extremely dangerous.”
“Shavon was paying you to find them, right?” Villid snapped.
“Shavon?” Mical looked shocked for a moment, then shook his head. “No, not Shavon. Look – come here,” he grabbed Villid by the elbow and tried to drag him behind the stall; unable to pull Villid, he tugged impatiently at Villid’s tunic until he followed him behind the stall, where piles of rugs, sword sheaths and brown bags lay scattered on the ground. Aya hurried at Villid’s heels, feeling confused. Why was Villid suddenly interested in the scrolls that they had sold – scrolls they hadn’t even been able to read?
When they were safely behind the stall, Mical pulled several thick strings that hung from the roof. A thick curtain suddenly swept down and covered the entire stall, concealing them in musty half-darkness. Mical lit several small candles behind him. “We’ll have to be quick,” he whispered. He spoke so quietly that Villid had to bend slightly to hear him.
“What’s your interest in the Blood scrolls?” Mical hissed. “Are you wanting to sell them to Shavon, the mage lord?”
“No,” Villid murmured back. “The opposite. Those scrolls are about Aya and I. I need to see what’s on them.”
“That’s the truth?” Mical asked sharply. His edgy exterior had disappeared; he seemed calm and suspicious now. The candles behind him didn’t cast much light.
“Listen to me,” Mical whispered. “I’m not giving them to Shavon either. A long time ago, a mage called Cornelius, the only mage with a Seeing ability, drew most of those scrolls whilst he was experiencing visions. At other times, another mage would write down what he was saying whilst he would describe them. Some of those scrolls hold prophecies that Cornelius made that have already come true. Some of the scrolls are just maps or lists of names, or paintings of the mages. And others are spells, magic or alchemies…”
“Like ‘The Blood of the Fallen?’” Villid whispered.
Mical swallowed. “The mages used that magic long ago,” he muttered. “It’s powerful and evil, and if it falls into the wrong hands...”
“I need them,” Villid hissed. “The boy
said that Shavon told him that ‘The Blood of the Fallen’ was about two opposites – about me and my companion here,” he gestured a large hand to Aya.
“Is she a human?” Mical asked.
“An E
lf,” said Villid. He wasn’t sure why he was telling Mical this, but something told him that the
Blood scrolls were more important to him than gold – something which was rare for a human.
“An E
lf,” Mical repeated. “I see. Yes…” he frowned for a
moment. “Listen to me, Tyran. I agree that the
Blood scrolls
may
be about you. They
may
be.”
“What exactly do they say?” Villid asked.
Mical’s eyes flickered between them both. “I will answer your question,” he said. “But firstly - how long have you been in Fort Valour?”
Villid and Aya glanced at eac
h other. This was getting
stranger with each passing moment. “A few days,” said Villid finally.
“And have you met any of the mages?” he asked.
“We met Maajin.” Aya replied.
“Maajin,” Mical repeated. “All right. I can’t say much more here. But in answer to your question…” he bent down to his knees. The table beside them had been holding boxes of weapons and tunics for sale, and a silk cover was draped over it. Mical lifted the curtain on the side closest to them, and pulled out a heavy wooden chest.
“These are the scrolls I bought from you,” he said, and opened the chest. “Hey… be
careful
with those!” he snapped, as Villid grabbed the first few scrolls. Villid glared at him, and dropped them back into the chest.
“What’s going on in there?” said a sharp voice from outside. Mical suddenly stuffed the scrolls back into the chest and kicked it back under the table at incredible speed. He suddenly grabbed a dagger – and handed it to Villid.
“…And that is why this dagger would be better for night training.” he said loudly.
The curtain behind Mical suddenly fluttered, and the head of a human guard appeared, glaring at the three of them. “What’s going on here?” he asked sharply. “Don’t you know that the rule is that all stalls must remain open from dawn until the birds make their nests?”
“Very well aware,” Mical said. “I was just showing this Tyran why daggers are better for night training than axes.”
The guard glared at them all. “Open the stall again,” he demanded.
“Right away, sir,” Mical gave a quick bow. The guard disappeared.
“You’re hiding the scrolls from the guards?” Villid asked in surprise.
“I can’t talk for much longer,” Mical muttered, and pulled out the chest again. “There’s not much time to explain. I hate having these scrolls in my stall, to tell you the truth. You may take them. But you must know that these
cannot
get into the hands of Shavon. You must keep them a secret.”
“Shavon the mage?” Aya whispered.
“Yes,” Mical said impatiently. “Now, you wanted
to know what they say, because ‘The Blood of the Fallen’ could be about you two.”
Aya made to interrupt, but Villid put his hand on her shoulder. “I’ll explain later,” he said.
Mical handed Villid the scrolls. “These are the ones you were looking for,” he whispered. “I will give them to
you… but you mustn’t give them to Shavon, do you understand? They aren’t his… they never were. If he gets them again, he’ll use the magic on them to…” he swallowed. “The less you know about it, the better,” he said. “The rightful owner… I don’t know where he is, so I’m keeping them here until I can find him again. But the guards… being here… it’s too much of a risk. If they find them and take them, it’ll be a disaster.”
“I can have them back?” Villid asked, hardly daring to believe it.
“Yes,” Mical whispered. “But only for yourself. I swear to you, don’t show them to anybody, don’t give them away, do not give them to Shavon. I beg of you.”
“Who do they belong to?” Aya asked. “Whose are they? They were stolen, correct?”
“They belong to a man called Nyu,” Mical hissed. “When Cornelius was experiencing his visions, writing down spells and alchemies, Nyu was the one who wrote it all down onto these scrolls. They were stolen a while ago by spies, to take back to Shavon, so he could use the old magic again.”
“And do what?” Villid asked.
“Hurry up, merchant!” growled the guard from outside. Mical froze.
“Just take them, and don’t show them to anybody,” he whispered, and tugged at the strings once again. The curtains covering the stall started to rise, and Villid folded
the scrolls and pushed them into his tunic pocket. “How do we know you’re telling the truth?” he asked.
The stall opened, and several guards stood nearby. “You’ll just have to trust me,” Mical said. “Now, get going.”
Aya and Villid left the shop. “No more closing the stall for no reason, even if it is to land a big sale.” the guard snapped at Mical.
“Of course, sir.” Mical replied.
“You!” the guard suddenly stopped Villid, and looked him up and down. “It’s dawn. To the Dragonstone, quickly.”

As sure as clockwork, the sun rose high into the sky until it beamed down onto the city, and
people filtered towards the Dragonstone to complete their daily ritual. Villid felt
Elves, humans and creatures he had never seen before pass him, some half-running, anxious to reach the stone and complete their daily prayers. Under the strict eye of the guard, they knelt before the dragon statue. Some murmured indistinctly, others flattened themselves to the ground and bowed, others even sang together.
Villid knelt with them, feeling the eyes of the human guards burn into
the back of his head. Such behaviour was alien to him, and he felt awkward, even silly. He stole a glance at Aya, who knelt beside him with her eyes closed, her hands clasped in her lap. There was an air of sadness in the way they prayed; completely different from the cheerful festivities the
E
lves had enjoyed in the village the night he and Aya had met. Perhaps Aya, too, was remembering the
attack on her village.
Aya was. As she sat before the Dragonstone, she thought of the gods she had learnt so much about in her youth. She had never questioned it, never questioned Talgi, the Earth-Dragon, nor the Dragon of Birth and the Dragon of Death, Telki and Rimidon. After the village had been destroyed by the Tyrans, and she had started this journey with Villid, she had seen the outside world, which was entirely different to what she had expected.
“Don’t ever leave this village, Aya,” her father’s words echoed inside her mind. Suddenly she was a child again, before her curiosity and naivety had been snatched from her. “It’s dangerous out there. There are creatures, beings, evil… the
same evil that took your mother.” he’d said it so bitterly, his eyes barely more than angry slits as he’d glared towards the trees leading to the outer forest.
At the time, she had been too scared of the expression on her father’s face to ask what ‘evil’ had taken her mother. On some level, she had never wanted to know, and had avoided the question until she’d just forgotten about it.
Now, kneeling in front of the Dragonstone, surrounded by murmuring humans, Fort Valian Elves who were singing some old, forgotten song of praise, and even Tyrans, who knelt with their fists to their hearts, she felt out of place. However, there she stayed, and only rose to her feet when those around her began to wander away to their daily tasks.

It was odd, leaving the city that had been their safe haven for days. “If it wasn’t for Llyliana, I wouldn’t want to leave,” Aya sighed, gazing at the dusty street ahead of them. “Isn’t it amazing, Villid, how
Elves, Tyrans, Knabi and humans, can all live together as equals? If only it was the same everywhere... no wonder the mages created this place.”
Villid could see where she was coming from, but privately he disagreed. The strict rules, guards constantly looking down at people, and a universal Dragonstone for everyone to worship, as a rule, every day like some kind of r
itual? Not to mention what
Mical had said about the scrolls …
He gripped the pieces of old parchment tightly in his tunic pocket as they headed towards the stables.
Mical had insisted that they don’t give the scrolls to Shavon – even though Shavon was a mage lord, much like the mage Seer, Cornelius, had been. It didn’t make sense. He didn’t like it. But one thing was for sure – as soon as Villid could find someone he could trust to translate these for him, he’d find out exactly what they said about him and Aya. After that, they could decide what to do with them.
Villid had never put much belief into prophecies and legends, particularly those made by humans. But Shavon had sent Navin to them in particular – had sent him to find an Elf and a Tyran travelling together. It couldn’t just be a coincidence.
Acotas greeted them with a snort, butting Villid’s shoulder gently with his silky black nose. The stallion’s grey,
speckled coat shined, and his thick mane had been well brushed.
“He looks healthy,” Villid said, satisfied. They packed their bags onto Acotas and led him out of the stable. He followed them obediently, his heavy hooves clopping familiarly on the ground. The sound gave Aya a feeling of comfort – she felt better with the horse around. She reached up to pat his great neck, and he gave a soft whinny.
As they approached the gate, Villid felt uneasy. If Shavon was looking for them, they didn’t stand a chance of leaving. As the large crack in the rock got closer, they saw guards standing by the marble pillars, dressed in heavy tunics and wielding spears or bows. He expected them to be stopped, and asked where they were going. Perhaps they would be sent back to the inn until Shavon summoned them. Perhaps they would be arrested. Perhaps…
“Open the gate!” the guard yelled, making Aya jump. The crack in the cliff suddenly split open with a roar and the old drawbridge appeared; it lowered with the loud grating of wood and metal, before settling against the rock, ready for them to cross. The guard stood back to attention, glaring at nothing, small beads of sweat appearing on his forehead from the heat of the morning.
They hurried across the drawbridge, pulling Acotas gently by the reins. The stallion seemed anxious to be outside the city and able to exercise again; his clopping walk turned to an excited trot; Aya let go of the reins, the horse gave a
whinny and cantered across the drawbridge and into the mountain.
The drawbridge rose behind them and closed with a rumble. They watched as the rock and cliffs merged round it, almost as if the rock were alive, growing and forming into itself until the drawbridge had completely disappeared, and nothing but the narrow path and old, battered signpost stood in its place, and the sounds of the city evaporated. It was a strange feeling, to suddenly be alone on the mountainside. Aya made to speak, but Villid raised a hand to silence her. He placed his hand warmly on her shoulder to show that he didn’t mean it in an insulting way.
“Wait here,” he whispered. “I’m going to look around a bit. There
may be Darkma waiting in ambush.”
He edged around the narrow pathway, keeping his eyes ahead and to the tops of the cliffs, half-expecting to see fangs and red eyes in every crack of rock, or feel vicious creatures swoop down upon him. A noise made him grip his sword handle tightly, and he sneaked ahead – but it was only Acotas, elated from the fresh air and his escape from the stables. The horse gave a soft snort to greet Villid, and he patted him softly. If the horse was calm, that was a good sign.
Aya was shivering near the rock, waiting for Villid to return. Her worried look relaxed as he approached, holding Acotas by the reins.
“Relax, we’re safe,” he grinned. “Smile. You look pretty when you smile.”