The Golden Cord
     
     Book One of the Iron Dragon Series
     
     By Paul Genesse
     
     
     Prologue
     
     Don’t look back.
     
     Drake fought the urge to leave the trail and hide in the tangled undergrowth of the Thornclaw Forest. He knew the predator was behind him, thanks to the second shrill warning call of a surikat. The ferretlike animal’s alarm cry echoed in the forest, leaving no doubt that he was being hunted.
     
     Don't let them see your fear, Drake marched a step closer to his father and the party of eight veteran hunters bound for the mountains. He clung to the faint hope that the early morning darkness would hide them. It was a griffon. It had to be, following this close on their heels. Even though one of the eagle-headed demons could tear him apart in an instant, he kept telling himself it didn’t matter that he was last in line. As the youngest—only fifteen winters old—his people’s customs placed him in the back, where his courage would be tested.
     
     The surikat’s ululating alarm call faded and Drake held his breath as an unnatural silence spread across the forest. All he heard were the hunters’ vrelkskin boots on the moss-covered path.
     
     Another piercing cry erupted behind them. His father, Tyler Bloodstone, whirled and stood motionless. The bushy tail of a surikat vanished into the tangled canopy of thorny branches and serrated leaves. Drake scanned the ironbark trees, but saw nothing. He turned to look into his father’s dark brown eyes, so much like his own, and made a questioning hand-sign. Tyler’s eyebrows scrunched together. “We’re being followed.” Tyler’s confirming whisper made the hair on Drake’s neck needle into his skin.
     
     His father whistled a short and sharp signal. The hunters turned stern faces toward him as he relayed the information with rapid hand-signals. His cousin Rigg, Uncle Sandon, and the other men took Tyler’s cue and walked faster. Their hurried steps on the curdle-moss covered trail released a caustic odor that burned Drake’s nostrils and filled his mouth with the taste of sour milk. His undesirable position at the end of the line guaranteed he would endure the strongest vapors.
     
     Switching his empty crossbow from hand to hand, Drake fought the urge to bend back the thick cord with his
     iron crank-lever and nock a broadhead bolt. It took all his willpower not to break tradition and cock his weapon. He wanted to ask his father for permission, but Drake shook his head. Such a foolish question wouldn’t be tolerated. He’d be told what to do and when to do it. For reassurance, Drake gripped the handle of his forward curved Kierka knife sheathed on his hip. He glanced backwards, his mind racing as he thought about what kind of creature could have landed to hunt them. Few wingless beasts would pursue ten men. It had to be an aevian; probably a griffin or wyvern. Please not a dragon.
     
     Swallowing the sour taste of fear mixed with curdle-moss, Drake knew if he fell behind the monster would strike. He matched the older men stride for stride, almost bumping into his father when the hunters slowed their fast-march at a wide cleft in the trees. Drake focused on the predawn sky above. It was large enough to prove fatal if an aevian was circling, waiting in ambush. Perhaps they were being herded to the forest window where a flight of cunning griffins waited to pounce.
     
     None of the hunters spoke as they crossed the open space. Ten pairs of eyes searched for the slightest sign of danger. Drake held the butt of his crossbow against his shoulder, aiming his unloaded weapon upwards and wishing it held a sleek broadhead or a stout, steel-tipped war bolt. Empty, it was an ineffective wooden club.
     Drake’s father ducked under a branch crossing the trail without turning his eyes from above. The young man tried to imitate his father’s expert movements, but grabbed a tree limb to steady himself. Before he realized his mistake, a long thorn pierced his left palm. Muffling a curse, he pulled away as the pain spread across his hand. It would have been unforgivable for Drake to cry out under the opening, but having a bleeding hand was worse. Griffins loved human flesh and could smell blood on the wind. He might as well have lit a torch and screamed. He sucked on his bleeding palm, tasting the bitter poison, which would burn for at least an hour and leave another tiny scar. Thornclaws always left their mark, and the namesake plant of the dark forest was fond of his flesh.
     
     The trilling song of a staerling as it flew off made his father glance back. Drake concealed his discomfort and hoped his father couldn’t see the blood oozing from his hand. It was only a tiny wound and the curdle-moss would mask his scent from the griffin. He hoped.
     
     Drake stifled a gasp. The griffin will smell my blood on the thornclaw vine! The aevian demon would do anything to eat his flesh once it picked up his trail. It would never stop hunting him. His heart sank into the rising acid pool in his stomach.
     
     Even if he lived through the day, Drake feared this would be the first and last mountain hunt his father would ever take him on. He’d be stuck in Cliffton, trapped in the village. He’d never climb the slopes of the Wind Walker Mountains, visit his cousin Rigg’s home in Armstead, or explore the famed Red Canyon his grandfather had spoken about so often.
     
     A hard glance from his father chilled Drake’s blood. He had opened his mouth to admit his mistake and whisper a warning about the blood on the vine, but his father’s frown struck him silent. Tyler squinted his left eye and tightened his jaw. He’d seen that look a lot, ever since Roan Graywood had been killed by a griffin three months ago. Since that day the Bloodstone household had been a very troubled place.
     
     Drake’s skin bristled with a pulse of warning he couldn’t shake off as he considered his father’s familiar expression. He couldn’t escape the feeling of something creeping up behind him in the darkness—something he desperately didn’t want to face.
     
     The trill from another staerling caused Tyler to stop and spin around. His father’s eyes became tiny black orbs as he locked his gaze on his son. “Get rid of him.”
     
     Drake shuddered. He knew what followed them. It was worse than a griffin. His father’s tone and expression made perfect sense. Drake hesitated, his lips forming words of protest.
     
     His father cut him off. “I want you to take care of it. Alone.”
     
     Drake’s sour mouth turned dry as sand. He tried to think of a way to get out of the distasteful task, but he was dumbfounded.
     
     “I’ll go with him.” Cousin Rigg stepped toward the rear of the line.
     
     “No.” Tyler barred seventeen-year old Rigg from moving closer to Drake.
     
     The young men’s eyes met. More than anything Drake wished that Rigg were his brother, not just his favorite cousin from a distant village. “But, Father . . . ”
     
     “Alone.” Tyler Bloodstone fixed his stern gaze on his son. “You carry a thorn bolt. You’re a hunter now.”
     Nothing came out of Drake’s mouth, but his mind screamed, Don’t make me do this alone!
     
     “Catch up when it’s done.” His father turned and strode away with Rigg and the others, leaving his oldest child to face the challenge on his own. A hundred words Drake should have said echoed in his mind. He should’ve stood up to his father.
     
     Turning, Drake clutched his crossbow. The drying blood from his pierced palm coated the stock, making it sticky in his trembling hands. He held the weapon close, searching for courage in the fine grain of the wood, then moved off the trail to set up an ambush and wait for his quarry.
     
     * * * * *
     
     Drake braided himself into the fabric of the forest, disappearing into the prickly brush and waiting with unblinking eyes. The excitement he had first felt about the adventure in the mountains had disappeared long ago. Dread clung to him like a clump of foul mud. He knew what he had to do, but his mind sped in a hundred different directions, There has to be another way.
     
     Something moved on the trail. Out of the dimly lit forest a small figure on gaunt legs limped toward him. A slight tremor twitched the muscles of one of the young man’s thighs, making his gait labored and unsteady. A small backpack rested awkwardly over skeletal shoulders and a child’s crossbow with a slack string dangled in wizened arms. The ailing youth tried to maintain the quick pace of the hunting party he pursued, but his rapid breathing showed the strain on his weak lungs.
     
     Drake wished a griffin would have appeared, instead of Ethan. His father would help him with an aevian, but not with his best friend.
     
     At this moment, Drake hated his father even more than any aevian. A nauseating thought almost made him retch with despair: A bolt through the heart might be the kindest thing anyone could do for Ethan. He could almost hear one of the older hunters—or maybe his father—saying the words.
     
     Rejecting the hideous notion, Drake watched Ethan trudge along with his usual determined stare. Drake had always admired Ethan’s willpower, and for a moment he considered letting the other boy trundle past without ever revealing his position. But Drake knew he couldn’t.
     
     He had to stop him.
     
     Ethan would not survive the trek to the mountains, or the dangerous vrelk hunts once they arrived. Drake slipped out of the brush and stepped onto the trail. He stood rigid, a different grim determination etched on his face.
     
     Ethan took one more laborious step before coming to a wavering halt. “Drake, I’m coming with you. We’ll see the vrelk herds and the mountain meadows . . . and Red Canyon . . .” The smaller boy’s words trailed off as he read Drake’s dour expression.
     
     Drake couldn’t find the words he had to say to his adopted brother. He didn’t want to do it. How could he? Ethan’s only crime had been being born physically weaker than everyone else. For that he’d been labeled the outcast, the misfit. Ethan could never be more than half a man in the eyes of almost everyone in the village—except Drake.
     
     “You knew I was following?”
     
     Drake nodded.
     
     “How far away are the others?”
     
     “Not far.”
     
     “We better get going or they’ll get too far ahead.”
     
     “Ethan . . .”“What?” The young man’s intense eyes belied his frail body, but not his sharp mind.
     
     “You know my father said you can’t come.”
     
     “So what. My father would’ve let me go. He’d let me try anything. He never held me back.”
     
     Drake couldn’t say it, but he thought: Your father’s dead, Ethan. Roan Graywood is dead. The whole village thinks he’d be alive if he hadn’t taken you on a hunt. He was worrying about you and he should’ve seen the griffin before it killed him.
     
     “You’re not stopping me.” Ethan stepped forward with his head held high.
     
     Drake took a wide stance, “I don’t want to, but—”
     
     “Why’re you in my way?”
     
     “My father wants me to send you back.”
     
     Ethan shook his head. “I don’t care. He’s my Watch Father, not my real one.”
     
     “He just doesn’t understand you.”
     
     “I’ll make him. Keeping me in Cliffton is wrong. It doesn’t matter what your father says. I’m going to see all the places beyond this damned forest. I’m not hiding in Cliffton forever.”
     
     “But you have to do what my father says.” Drake’s tone pleaded for his friend to be reasonable. “I’m sorry. He doesn’t know what you’re capable of.”
     
     “Just because I live in the Bloodstone house doesn’t mean your father owns me like some Nexan slave.”
     
     “He took you all in. He loves you. He just wants to protect you and your family. What would your mother or sisters say if they knew you were here?”
     
     Ethan sighed, but didn’t answer.
     
     “They don’t know you’re gone, do they? And what about Jaena?” Drake didn’t want to bring her into it, but he had to use everything—and everyone—he could think of. “You’re supposed to watch out for her while I’m gone.
     Remember?”
     
     “Shut up, Drake. Your father just doesn’t want me around. I’m just a burden to him. He wanted to get away from me. So did you. Admit it. My mother’ll be glad I’m gone for a while too. She blames me for my father’s—”
     
     “That’s not true. Don’t say that. It wasn’t your fault.” Drake wanted to believe what he was saying, but he couldn’t.
     
     Pain and guilt spread across Ethan’s face as he hung his head in shame. He never talked about his father’s death. Drake figured it was still too painful for him. “My father just wants to keep you safe, and so do I.”
     The terrible palsy affecting Ethan’s body made his right hand shake uncontrollably. Drake wanted to pick his friend up and rush off to see the village healer. Priestess Liana Whitestar and her golden-haired daughter, Jaena could stop the grotesque tremors, but they would always come back with a vengeance. Ethan was cursed.
     
     “I can take care of myself, Drake. Now let’s get going.” Ethan hid his hand.
     
     “Wait. You’ve got chores back in the village. You’re the path warden for the next two weeks. And you promised to feed my new pups. You’re supposed to watch over both of them and all the other dogs. You’ve always done your share. Don’t stop now.”
     
     “Feeding guard dogs and pruning cover tree paths isn’t the goal of my life, Drake.”
     
     “Keep your voice down.” Drake scowled and glanced at the canopy, hoping they hadn’t attracted any predators.
     
     “I’m tired of getting the worst jobs in the village. Anyone else can do them better than me. It’s not fair. They won’t even let me go into the forest to hunt and I want to see the mountains for once. This is my chance. Mountain hunts don’t come very often. You told me yourself.”
     
     Ethan was right. The sojourns to the mountains were rare. He didn’t know what to say. When Ethan made up his mind nothing would stop him. Seeing his father killed hadn’t broken Ethan’s spirit—at least Drake didn’t think it had.
     
     “Let’s go. We’re falling behind.”
     
     Drake realized his only option was to block the trail himself. He didn’t know what else to say or do. He needed time to think.
     
     “Do I have to push you out of my way?” Ethan glared at him, his thin eyebrows raised. After laying his crossbow on the side of the path, Drake folded his arms across his chest. He hated resorting to brute strength to stop his best friend. Trying to intimidate Ethan made Drake feel like one of Cliffton’s bullies.
     
     “Move out of the way,” Ethan’s high-pitched voice cracked with emotion. “You promised.”
     
     Remorse washed over Drake. He wished he could take back what he’d said after Ethan’s father’s memorial ceremony. It had been a mistake to promise that they would go to the mountains together.
     
     “Move.” Ethan stepped forward. He was much shorter, but he put his frail chest against Drake’s strong one and tried to push past. Drake shifted to keep the smaller boy from slipping by and nudged his friend backwards. Ethan lost his balance and fell hard to his knees, sprawling on the ground. Drake reached down to help, but Ethan slapped away his hands and bared his teeth. “Don’t touch me!” He struggled to stand as Drake knelt on the mossy trail, extending his open palms.
     
     Ethan locked his bony fingers onto Drake’s hands, grappling for dominance.
     
     “Stop it.” The words hissed through Drake’s teeth. He held firm in spite of his friend’s powerful aura of courage and the stabbing pain from the thorn wound now being squeezed. They stared at each other, neither giving up. The realization that Ethan wasn’t going to quit gave Drake a desperate idea. He didn’t dare bring up Roan’s passing and slur the memory of a fallen hunter, but there was something else he could say.
     
     “You don’t carry a thorn bolt. You’re not a true hunter. You’re just a boy. You can’t go on the mountain hunts until you have one.” Hating every word that fell from his lips, Drake spoke like all the bullies who had ever picked on Ethan. “That’s Cliffton’s law. You’re bound to it. Your body’s not strong enough. Face it and go home.”
     
     Ethan’s lips quivered, but words erupted as if he didn’t care if every griffin in the forest heard him. “The council won’t even let me try to get a damned thorn bolt. You know that, you dung eating woodskull!”
     Drake felt like he had just shot his best friend in the back with a poisoned bolt. Every hunter in the village had gone to Thorn Bolt Rock; but when Ethan had reached his fifteenth birthday he had been forbidden to go. It was too dangerous. Everyone knew it, but the leash intended to protect Ethan had become a noose. Shame clawed at Drake as he towered over his friend. “That’s because you can’t get one. There’re some things you just can’t do. This hunt is one of them.”Releasing his grip on Drake’s hands, Ethan’s shoulders sagged with despair. Drake heard the words he had just spoken, but they were said with Tyler Bloodstone’s voice. He had repeated what his father had told Ethan the night before.
     
     Now Drake hated himself even more than he despised his father.
     
     Ethan shrank a bit at Drake’s betrayal, looking like a ravaged sapling dying from a bark-beetle infestation—but his obstinate expression remained.
     
     “Doesn’t matter. I don’t need a thorn bolt to be a hunter.” Ethan’s voice was just a whisper as he fought back tears.
     
     Drake knew he had to press his argument further to land the telling blow. He blurted out the words before he could think, “Go back before you summon a griffin down on our heads and get us killed like . . .”
     “Like my father?” Humiliation turned to rage. Ethan’s face became bright red and he clenched his fists. Drake thought his friend was going to punch him in the face.
     
     “I hate you. You’re not my friend.”
     
     Drake wished Ethan would have hit him instead.
     
     The afflicted young man staggered to his feet and stumbled down the path toward Cliffton. Tears welled in Drake’s eyes. He wondered if shooting Ethan would have been easier.
     
     * * * * *
     
     When there was no sign of his friend, Drake mustered enough willpower to catch up to his father and the others. The sun appeared above the treetops as he hustled along, turning the Thornclaw Forest from shades of gray to many variations of dark green. Drake had been looking forward to the light, but now it brought more attention to the barbs and stinging nettles of the lush undergrowth.
     
     A strong hand reached out of the brush and grabbed Drake’s shoulder. The young man drew his knife even as his father said, “You’re lucky I wasn’t a skulking aevian gone to ground.”
     
     You’re lucky I didn’t cut off your damn hand! Drake thought, pushing his Kierka blade back into its sheath and glaring at his stone-faced father.
     
     “You sent Ethan back?” Tyler stepped onto the path facing his son.
     Drake wished he’d stood up to his father before ambushing Ethan and sundering their friendship.
     
     “Well?”
     
     “I sent him back.”
     
     Tyler nodded. “The village needs all of us to come back alive. With him along—”
     
     “I would’ve looked after him.”
     
     “You can’t protect him all the time. Roan was a veteran of the Thornclaw and he’s dead. What makes you think you could’ve done better than his own father? Do you want to end up in an aevian’s belly? This isn’t a children’s game out here.”
     
     “It’s just not right.” Drake said what Ethan would have. Things were always right or wrong with Ethan.
     
     “I know it wasn’t easy.” Drake heard the pride he longed for in his father’s voice. “But you did what you had to do.” He didn’t hate his father so much at that moment. Tyler put a hand on Drake’s shoulder. “He’s lucky he lives in Cliffton. Our village is a good place for little Ethan, even though he’ll never be a hunter.”
     Drake touched the ceremonial thorn bolt in his leg-sheath and wondered if Ethan would ever forgive him. A cold chill crept up Drake’s spine, rooting him in place.
     
     “What?” Tyler scanned the canopy and surrounding bushes preparing to loose a killing bolt at whatever had spooked his son. “I don’t see anything.”
     
     Spirals of fear pulsed through Drake’s chest. His eyes opened wide. He knew what Ethan was going to do.
     
     “What’s wrong?”
     
     Drake flung his pack and crossbow to the ground, then sprinted back down the path.
     
     “Where’re you going?!” Tyler called as he scooped up the discarded gear and chased after his defenseless son.
     
     “To stop him!”
     
     Drake ran as fast as he could down the trail, dodging the low-hanging branches and poisonous vines. He outran his pursuing father, moving faster than he ever had through the dangerous forest. He almost didn’t care about the chance of ambush by an aevian demon. His friend’s life was at stake and he was willing to risk his own for his adopted brother.
     
     Drake’s face and hands were soon cut and bleeding after a few minutes of rushing through the Thornclaw.He ignored the pain, accepting it as fair punishment for what he had done to his best friend.
     
     The village was close and the trail became less wild as it approached Cliffton. He spotted the open ground between the forest and the village’s long palisade wall. The wide firebreak was barren except for countless tree stumps and small ground-hugging plants. He glanced at the open ground, then up at the thick domes of the cover tree grove before dashing away from the village gates.
     
     Drake ran back into the untamed forest, veering toward the edge of the great plateau, near where Cliffton had been built. He took the path to the Lily Pad Rocks and the edge of the Void. He could almost sense the yawning abyss of the Underworld as if it called his name, tempting him to come closer.
     
     Any moment now, the ground would fall away and the sea of clouds would begin. Drake nearly tripped over Ethan’s pack and crossbow, and the sinking feeling in his stomach intensified. He hoped he wasn’t too late as he approached the terminus of the plateau. Please Goddess, let me be in time. I’m sorry for what I did.The brightness at the end of the forest tunnel made him blink. Blinded for an instant, he respected the danger of falling into the Void and slowed his mad sprint. His eyes adjusted to the glare and he saw the lip of the stony cliff.
     
     Beyond the sheer precipice, an ocean of clouds stretched to the horizon. The deep green of the forest contrasted with the sea of pure white mist reflecting the morning sunlight. Drake swerved left at the edge of the unfathomable gulf. The surface of the wavy mist began five hundred feet below the cliff. He had no idea how deep the fog extended before the Underworld began. Not wanting to find out, he ran alongside the chasm taking careful strides—a stumble would mean death.
     
     At last, Drake spied his destination. The six Lily Pad Rocks poked up from the Underworld like long demonic fingers of grayish stone. The summits of the flat-topped towers were the same height as the plateau where the Thornclaw Forest had sunk its roots. Five of the spires were barren except for a few patches of crusty lichen.
     Drake spotted Ethan staring at the sixth and furthest rocky island. His friend’s back was to him. The frail youth stood wavering in the strong breeze and appeared unaware of Drake’s arrival.
     
     Despite his fear, Drake was impressed Ethan had made it so far out. Leaping across all but one of Lily Pads Rocks was quite an accomplishment for a person with his strength, but Drake knew he wouldn’t stop until the end.
     
     There was one more jump to make, the longest of them all. Drake glanced at the rare and ancient sikatha tree clinging to the sixth rock where it had watched over the Void for hundreds of years. The squat and thorny sentinel grew on the most remote island—Thorn Bolt Rock. Thick barbs projected like quills from its fat trunk.
     To become a fully recognized hunter Ethan needed one of the thorns, but Drake had to stop him before his friend fell to his death. Drake prepared himself for his jump over the Underworld. If he missed a step he would plummet into the abyss, where his soul would be forever doomed to wander as a ghost.
     
     Drake launched himself toward the nearest Lily Pad, easily making the short hop onto the first of the six pillar-shaped rock islands. He had made the long step several times before. For him the mental challenge had always been greater than the physical one.There would be no hunters covering themand a person never knew if demons were watching and waiting to fly up and attack.
     
     Ethan stood motionless, ready to attempt his final jump at any moment. Drake knew Ethan didn’t lack the heart, only the body for the last challenge.
     
     “Ethan, stop!” Drake screamed, knowing that all the heart in the world wasn’t enough sometimes.Ethan heard the plea and turned his grief-stricken face to Drake, who recognized the mournful expression he had seen since Roan Graywood had been killed. His face showed defeat. The final leap was impossible. The Void had finally crushed his friend’s unrealistic hopes of becoming a hunter.
     
     Drake vaulted over the fourth gap and bounded across the rocky spire. He’d be at his friend’s side after one more easy jump.
     
     Ethan shook his head at Drake.
     
     He’s not turning back. Drake could see it in his friend’s eyes. As Drake neared the fifth crevasse, Ethan lurched toward Thorn Bolt Rock. Drake nearly miscalculated his own leap when Ethan shambled toward the depths separating him from the far island and the prize growing on the venerable sikatha tree.
     
     Ethan picked up speed, but it wasn’t enough. His friend flung himself forward, arcing over the chasm.
     
     Drake sucked in his breath. Ethan wasn’t going to make it. There was nothing Drake could do. He blamed himself for the nightmare unfolding in front of him. He had pushed his friend to this ultimate moment of insanity. Drake’s arrival had spurred Ethan to try a desperate attempt to become a hunter. Now his best friend was going to die.
     
     Ethan’s bony hands and palsied arms barely caught the lip of the rocky island. His lower body slammed into the stone tower. Drake gasped when he thought he heard the sound of his friend’s bones breaking.
     But there was a chance. Ethan hung on.
     
     Drake’s legs had felt like tree trunks at times during his desperate run through the forest, but he reached deep into his soul and sprinted the last few paces.
     
     Ethan dangled above the gaping mouth of the Void as Drake reached the final gap and leaped with all his remaining strength. He sailed over Ethan’s head and landed hard on the weathered ground. Momentum pushed him forward, but Drake whirled around and lunged for Ethan’s hands.
     
     Their eyes met.
     
     Ethan fell.
     
     “Ethan!” Drake shrieked and reached out to his friend, almost hurling himself over the edge. Ethan screamed as the opaque fog of the Underworld enveloped his withered body, devouring him.
     
     Ethan was gone.
     
     Drake lay paralyzed on the cold rock and stared into the misty chasm. His wide, unblinking eyes searched in vain for his lost friend. Drake’s body shook as the wind whipped at his face. A whisper escaped his trembling lips, “Ethan, I’m so sorry. Please come back.”
     
     Only the empty, mocking Void stared back at him.
     
     
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