but I can't do it any longer.'
Morif stepped forward to take Catrin from Zander's quivering arms, and Zander saw something he would never forget: Morif turned as pale as a whitefish, and his eye went wide. Zander saw it for only the briefest instant, as Catrin suddenly went rigid in his arms. Doing his best to hold on to her and not fall, Zander took two steps backward and bumped into Kyrien's side. As he looked up, a pair of massive eyes glared back at him, and it was more than he could stand. Zander fainted.
Holding his ribs, Chase took one step at a time. As he turned a corner, he found his way blocked by what had been the Upperton Apothecary, now a large pile of firewood partially obscured by the body of a dragon. Fear overcame Chase, even knowing the beast was dead. This was a super-predator, a killing machine. He would need to learn as much as he could about these feral dragons as fast as he could. Climbing over the dragon's tail was terrifying and painful. He didn't think anything was broken, but he was severely battered.
Beyond, he saw a very alive Kyrien supporting Catrin with his maw as another man fell to the ground. The bodies of dragons, men, and demons littered the valley floor. Amid the chaos, Morif brought order. Already the wounded were being loaded onto litters and carried up to the hold. Chase's second in command stepped in to support Catrin, who was now standing on her own. Chase moved faster despite the pain, tears gathering in his eyes.
'We need help over here,' Morif shouted and Chase almost laughed; leave it to a one-eyed man to see him first. Morif always found a way to surprise him, and this day was no different. 'Are you all right, sir?'
'Sort of,' Chase said. 'I think I'll live.'
Morif grinned. 'A little pain is a good thing. It reminds us not to be reckless.'
Chase had often uttered the maxim himself, and he couldn't deny the truth of it.
'It took you long enough,' he said when he reached Catrin.
She almost smiled.
'Prios is back!' came Millie's shout from above, and Catrin did smile briefly. The destruction around them defied optimism.
'You have that look on your face,' Chase said to Catrin. 'What is it?'
'Kyrien is injured,' Catrin said. 'We've got to figure out a way to protect him. If the ferals come back, he'll be defenseless.'
'They will come back. There's a big one that has claimed this as his territory. We're not sure where he sleeps, but during the day, he keeps a constant watch on this valley. The people call him Reaver.'
'All the more reason I need every able person down here now. We need to build fortifications around Kyrien to protect him.'
'There are no fortifications we can build that will keep them out, Cat.'
'Well, we have to do something!'
'The only things that've worked so far are spears and fire. I'll get people working weapons and training. In the meantime, we need to get you back in the hold. You look horrible.'
'You're not looking your best either,' Catrin replied. 'And I'm staying here. Kyrien needs my protection.' Chase looked Catrin in the eye and knew that arguing would do no good. Then he saw a look of pain and guilt flash across her face. 'Sinjin?'
'He's fine,' Chase said. He saw relief in Catrin's eyes, but the guilt was still there. 'And Durin as well.'
'That ornery rascal could survive just about anything, I do believe.'
'Get back in here. I don't care who you are. You need rest!' Millie's shouts drifted down to those below.
'I believe that would be your husband coming now.'
Chapter 7
Followers are like leaves before a strong wind. Leaders are the wind.
Nearly a fortnight passed, and the darkness pressed them no further, though the dragons kept constant daylight vigil. It seemed they were waiting for something, or someone. The thoughts haunted Catrin. Prios was busy running a hold in turmoil and under siege, though the times she saw him, there was tenderness in his eyes. As they passed in the hall, he would reach out to her, their hands caressing each other, ever so briefly. Sometimes she'd see Sinjin trailing her husband, watching everything he did. Catrin had seen less of Sinjin, and it pained her. There was guilt in his eyes, and she couldn't seem to convince him that she would forgive him for whatever it was. Something haunted his eyes, and that troubled her more than anything else. Knowing she needed to concentrate, Catrin quieted her mind.
Squinting, she winced at the pain of pushing her needle through the supple but thick leather once again. She could have given this task to the seamstresses, but it would have been impossible to convey to them the image in her mind. She often wished for Kyrien's skill at communicating in images and feelings. Catrin could see every detail from any angle, as if he had implanted the memory of this object directly into her head. A saddle! Catrin could hardly believe it. She was working on a saddle for Kyrien, and it was unlike any saddle Catrin had ever known. Certainly the seat, cantle, pommel, and horn were similar, but there were no stirrups. Instead there were multiple cups of leather and iron on the flaps that could be used in a similar fashion to stirrups.
So many details had flowed into Catrin's mind. A collection of girths made with thick strands of wound cotton waited in a corner, but none of Catrin's many straps were complete. First she needed metal rings with a flat edge on one side, which only Strom could provide. Her childhood friend was far too busy, yet he refused to take on an apprentice, saying he was still an apprentice himself, though none would argue his skill with metal and fire. He had mastered the art of bringing things to life from only a picture in his mind. Wielding his hammer like a paintbrush, he created works of art. Now, though, much of his time was spent making pot stands, candleholders, and anything else needed by the hundreds if not thousands of refugees now forced to live in the great hall.
After draping a roughspun sheet over the saddle, Catrin left her workshop, pulling the rawhide curtain to cover the doorway, not wanting rumors to spread. She also didn't want to worry Sinjin, unable to imagine how he would feel about his mother riding Kyrien with the ferals and demons guarding the valleys.
The cool air turned warm as Catrin walked toward the forge, and with every step, the heat became more oppressive. Sweat ran into Catrin's eyes well before she reached the smithy. Within stood Strom and a man Catrin knew she should recognize, but she could not recall a single detail about him. Hoping he would not engage her, she stepped into the smithy. She needn't have worried. Though people seemed to fear Catrin less these days, she rarely had to wait for anything. Those in her path leaped to get out of her way, and it sometimes frightened her. What had she become?
'If one more person asks me when their commission will be done, I'll throttle 'em,' Strom said by way of greeting.
Catrin smiled. 'I'm sorry you have to make everyone else wait so that my requests are fulfilled.' She turned her head so he would see her grin. 'I know that must be terribly difficult for you.'
'What makes you think I've made anyone wait on your account?'
'Well,' Catrin said, knowing she was risking not getting the parts she needed anytime soon. 'I figured there must be some reason everyone was asking when their commissions would be ready. Something must be slowing you down. I figured it must be me.'
Strom's dark skin glistened as he breathed heavily, and Catrin saw his face darken even more as he flushed. 'You've no idea how much time it takes to do what I do! The next person who questions how long it takes to do things can forge their own cook pots! Ungrateful lot. To the fires with all of you!'
Catrin could no longer hold back her laughter, which only seemed to fuel Strom's anger.
'And you just stuff a melon in it. I've heard about enough out of you. Why, I ought to melt these down and put you to the back of the line!' He stuffed a heavy bag into her hands, and she could hear the sound of rings and
