She hissed at Yaz when he reached for her.
“Easy now,” he said. “I don’t know where you’re going, but it’s going to take you a while to crawl there. Do you live with Moz? He’s in trouble and we’re going to help.”
“Do you think that thing understands you?” Brigid asked.
“I don’t know,” Yaz said, not looking up from the dragon. “But talking to the dragons in this tone always soothed them back home.”
He reached out again and this time the little dragon let him rub her head. “That’s right. We’re friends now. Do you want to come with us?”
Yaz held out his hand palm up and let her decide. After a moment, the dragon climbed into his hand and Yaz carried her over to the skiff where she gripped the front with her tiny claws and stared straight at the flying ship. She knew what was going on out there, he had no doubt.
With the dragon settled, Yaz helped Brigid in before grabbing a long pole and joining her in the skiff. Brigid untied the front of the boat and Yaz poled out to meet Cork. It was an unsteady effort to begin with, but he slowly got the hang of it. Balance was more important than strength. Which was good. Yaz had way more balance than he did strength.
“You’re a natural,” Cork said as Yaz got closer.
Yaz smiled. “You’re very generous. As long as we get there in one piece and dry, I’ll be happy.”
Splashing behind them drew Yaz’s gaze. The dragonriders were coming their way in two overloaded skiffs. They had chosen to use oars instead of poles and the men were huddled near the center, their expressions masks of dread. In their heavy armor, a tumble into the swamp would be a death sentence.
“Do a couple of you guys want to transfer over to our skiffs?” Yaz asked.
“We’re good where we are,” Calvin said.
“Well enough. Lead on, Cork.”
They made their way through the swamp as fast as they could without risking falling overboard. Yaz’s gaze constantly darted from the path through the trees up to the ship and back. Every second it grew closer and he grew more nervous.
His father had to be okay. If he wasn’t, Yaz didn’t know what he was going to do. He feared Wrath taking over again and going on a rampage. That would help no one, least of all his mother who was still the gods knew where.
Their skiffs bumped against the island only minutes behind the ship stopped above. They’d seen no sign of the defenders Cork had feared. Maybe the Dark Sages would actually do him a favor and draw all the cultists’ attention. That would certainly make sneaking around easier.
Yaz climbed out and helped Brigid onto land. He held out a hand and the dragon climbed up onto his shoulder. When Silas had joined them, Wicked flew over and gave the little dragon a thorough looking over. The living dragon hissed at her undead counterpart prompting Wicked to rejoin its master.
When the dragonriders caught up and disembarked, Cork led the way into the island’s interior. A well-trod path made traveling through the swamp easier than Yaz had expected. Though from behind him he heard more than a few curses from the dragonriders, especially Burke. Sometimes being the biggest wasn’t so good, especially when it meant your head ended up getting in the vines.
Cork set a brisk pace and they emerged at the edge of the biggest hole Yaz had ever seen. Yaz looked over the lip just in time to see a gargantuan black dragon straighten, loose a near-deafening roar, and take to the air. The people below stared at the departing dragon before the larger group charged in to attack the smaller group.
A blast of magic sent many of the warriors flying. Smaller explosions wreaked even more havoc.
It was madness down there. Despite the danger of getting hit by an errant spell, Yaz liked their chances. Hopefully as long as they were running away from the fight, no one would target them.
“Gods’ blood, it’s like a little war down there,” Calvin said. “Which side do we help?”
“Neither,” Yaz said. “We hope they keep killing each other and ignore us. Spread out and see if you can find a way down.”
A half a minute of searching brought them to a rickety set of stairs built into the near-vertical walls of the pit.
“I’m getting flashbacks to the dragons’ graveyard,” Brigid said.
Yaz grinned. “Let’s hope there’s no undead dragon to go with the one that just took off. Come on.”
He set the white dragon down and made his way to the steps, being careful where he put his feet. He couldn’t fight with the dragon perched on his shoulder and she’d be safer up here anyway. Despite the poor construction, the stairs appeared solid enough and they made it to the bottom in one piece. For the first time, Yaz was glad he’d never wear the armor of a dragonrider. That extra weight wouldn’t help here.
When they reached the bottom, Yaz studied the buildings. Most of them were half collapsed wrecks, but one of the bigger ones, probably the village’s former town hall, appeared to have had considerable work done to it. That was as good a place to start as any.
His companions fell in behind him as Yaz jogged toward the building. He made sure to take an indirect route, one that would hopefully get him to his destination while avoiding the battle just yards away.
“Silas, would you have Wicked fly up and keep an eye out for trouble?”
The wizard pointed and his familiar soared about twenty feet over their head. Hopefully, the little undead would spot anything before it became a problem.
By some miracle, they reached a hiding place ten yards from the building without encountering any soldiers. That was where their luck ran out. A trio of men stood guard at the entrance. They needed to take them out quickly, but quietly. If the guards got inside they could take any prisoners hostage then the rescue would be ruined.
Yaz chewed his lip. Magic could do it, but also risked any spellcasters from the battle coming their way. Too risky. The riders were strong, but too slow for a speedy rush. It would be up to him and Brigid.
He turned to Brigid. “You ready for a fight?”
She lifted her ironwood staff and offered a grim nod.
“Silas, have Wicked fly down and distract the guards. When they look away, we’ll charge.” He turned to Calvin. “Once we take out the guards, you guys secure the entrance.”
Calvin nodded. “You’ve become a fine leader. Your father will be proud.”
“Thanks.” When Yaz indicated he was ready, Silas pointed and Wicked soared down so his glowing red eyes were level with the guards’.
The men yelped and turned to face the undead. The moment they did, Yaz charged.
He focused on the back of the center guard’s head. He felt Brigid running beside him even though he didn’t dare look.
The guards were professional. The sensed the attack coming and started to turn.
A moment too late.
Yaz’s thrust took the center guard right between the eyes.
He went down in a heap.
A quick spin of his quarterstaff deflected an incoming thrust. From the sounds of it, Brigid had engaged her opponent as well.
Yaz grimaced at every clang as he parried his opponent’s attacks. Hopefully the main battle would keep the rest of the soldiers distracted.
The guard’s next thrust overextended and Yaz brought his staff crashing down on the back of his neck. A second blow to his throat ended the battle. He turned just in time to watch Brigid finish off her opponent.
Yaz turned to find the rest of the group three-quarters of the way over to them. Across town, a flash of white light from the spire drew Yaz’s gaze.
The tower had been activated.
“That can’t be good,” Calvin said.
“No. Let’s get inside.”
Before they could take a step another huge blast shook the air. Four figures shot into the sky toward the flying ship. The Dark Sages had finished their business. That wasn’t good. With no one to fight, the cultists were likely going to be coming this way.
“I’ve got to find my dad,” Yaz said.
<
br /> “Go,” Calvin said. “We’ll hold the entrance.”
A group of battered figures came trudging down the street. As soon as they spotted Yaz and his companions they shouted and charged.
Moz had lost track of how many days he’d been locked up eating just enough to survive. He guessed a couple weeks but wouldn’t swear to it. His cellmate had proven a chatty companion. Months of solitude had left him with a great desire to speak to someone, even a complete stranger like Moz. He’d learned the man’s life story ending with his capture and torment. He was part of the group Callie told him about.
For his part, Moz had been pleased to tell him that his son was alive and well, at least he was the last time Moz got news. That revelation had brought the biggest smile to his bearded face.
Moz was just about to start his daily exercise routine when a roar shook the prison. The guards stationed outside shared a look and went running to investigate.
“Time for us to take our leave,” Moz said.
He removed the heel of his right boot revealing a small compartment underneath. From inside he fished out a length of stiff wire. The lock on their cage was sturdy but not terribly complex. Half a minute of work got it open. He quietly pushed the door open and slipped out. Outside, the sounds of battle raged on.
Whatever was going on, it should serve to keep the crazy cultists busy.
Yazguard shuffled into the hall behind him. No way could Moz depend on him should there be a fight. And there would be, he had no doubt.
He motioned for the injured man to keep back and snuck down the passage. At the end of the hall, a single man stood with his back to Moz. The other guard must have gone ahead to see what all the commotion was about.
So much the better.
A foot at a time, Moz eased his way up behind the guard. When he was three feet away he lunged, wrapping his arms around the man’s neck.
They struggled as Moz applied pressure to the big veins on either side his neck. A few seconds rendered the guard unconscious and a hard twist to the left snapped his neck, assuring he’d never wake.
Moz dragged the guard back out of sight and helped himself to the cheap sword hanging at the cultist’s waist. The single-handed arming sword wasn’t Moz’s preferred weapon, but he wasn’t in a position to be fussy.
“How are you holding up?” Moz asked.
“I’m out of that damn cage, so I’m better than I’ve been in a while. Let’s go before someone shows up.”
Moz heartily endorsed that plan. He set out at a slow, steady pace. He hadn’t seen any other guards, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any waiting in the main area of the building. It would be just his luck to find a company of soldiers waiting.
They managed ten whole strides before shouting was followed by the clash of steel on steel. Had the battle made it this far already?
Since he didn’t plan to go back in his cage, there was only one option, keep pressing forward. At the end of the hall, they stared out on a scene of chaos. A small force of heavily armored fighters held off scores of cultists. Lightning crackled and a handful of cultists went flying.
Yazguard stood beside him and stared. “Those are my dragonriders. How did they get here?”
He stared for a moment longer then gasped. “Yaz.”
“What is it?” Moz asked.
“My son is out there. I’ve got to go.”
“You’re in no shape to fight.”
“I’ll tear anyone who tries to hurt my son apart with my bare hands.” Yazguard brushed past Moz and charged out into the melee.
With a resigned shake of his head Moz ran after him.
Chapter 16
Yaz and Brigid stood back to back with Silas between them. The dragonriders’ initial defense of the main entrance had gone well, or it seemed to go well anyway. What none of them had realized until too late was that there was another entrance to the building. While all their focus was on the front, cultists came pouring in from the rear. Only Wicked alerting Silas saved them from getting taken totally by surprise.
As it was, they were trapped between a superior force with no way out and no hope of finding his father. It was fair to say things could have gone better.
Yaz deflected an incoming spear, spun his staff to deflect a sword blow that would have taken Silas through the ribs, and twisted to avoid another spear.
He looked around, desperate for a way out.
He found nothing but a sea of men in green armor. He didn’t know how long they could hold out like this.
Yaz risked a glance toward the entrance. The riders were holding their own. If they could only meet up, they might have the numbers to protect Silas long enough for him to cast a spell strong enough to blast a path out of here. Unfortunately a good twenty men separated Yaz’s group from the riders.
His staff crashed into the head of the nearest cultist, sending the man to the ground.
Only a hundred or so more to go.
Brigid cried out and Yaz turned to see her fall to her knees.
Two men stood over her, spears poised to run her through.
Forgetting all about their defensive formation, Yaz lunged, his staff held horizontally in front of him.
He hit the soldiers in their midsections, doubling them over.
Silas blasted one and Brigid hit the other in the throat, sending him crawling away and struggling to breathe.
“Look out!” a hoarse voice shouted.
A figure in rags leapt in front of Yaz an instant before a thrown javelin would have pierced him through the chest. It hit the taller man in the guts and he collapsed on his back.
Yaz stared at the emaciated figure. “Dad?”
He could barely reconcile the pitiful man lying before him with the invincible warrior he’d always known.
His knees buckled and he collapsed beside his father. This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t find him only to lose him now.
Deep inside something broke.
Wrath grew huge as it devoured rage and pain.
In the dark corner of his mental library, the black door opened a fraction.
Power roared out and Yaz screamed, giving vent to all the pain and sorrow that filled him.
He rose and glared at the cultists.
Where he looked, darkness appeared.
Appeared and devoured.
Black claws tore men limb from limb. Beasts of darkness savaged their flesh.
There was no pity in Yaz. His heart was as cold as Wrath’s black ice.
He pointed at a group of five cultists scrambling to escape. Black spears leapt from the tips of his fingers, impaling each of them with a dozen points.
Their screams didn’t reach him.
Pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears.
For what they did to his father, every one of them would die in the worst way he could imagine. And Yaz had a great imagination.
The slaughter went on for he knew not how long until at last there was no one left to kill. Wrath looked around for more targets. The emptiness inside him yawned as wide as when he began. A small part of him knew that murdering the entire world wouldn’t fill that space. Wrath pointed out that there was only one way to know for sure.
Something warm pressed against his back and gentle arms wrapped around him.
“It’s okay,” Brigid said. “We’re safe now. You can let it go. Your father wants you.”
The black ice melted and the door slammed shut. Yaz returned to himself.
He kissed Brigid. “Thank you.”
His father lay in a spreading pool of blood, the javelin sticking straight up out of him. Yaz was a sufficiently skilled healer to know there was nothing he could do under the best of circumstances.
In the end, his only option was to kneel beside his father until the end.
“Yaz,” his father said. “The other villagers?”
“Safe and free in Rend. Mom’s the only one I haven’t found yet. There was no record of her in the slavers’ books.”
> Dad turned his head and spat a stream of blood. “That’s because they didn’t get their hands on her. The Dark Sages took her. She told me once years ago that if anything ever happened to her, they’d take her to a place called the Tower of Punishment.”
Yaz’s mind reeled. “How could Mom know that?”
His father’s face twisted as a spasm ran through him. The dragonriders had gathered around but Yaz ignored them.
“She was one of them, Yaz. Before she came to the valley and married me, she worked for the sages as a researcher. She didn’t give me many details, only enough to know the things they wanted her to do forced her to make a choice and she chose to leave.”
He coughed and retched more blood. After another gasp for air he continued. “The tower is high up in the Central Mountains, off the Lost Path. It’s marked in our atlas. Find her, Yaz. I don’t know what they’re doing to her there, but it can’t be good.”
Yaz took his father’s hand and squeezed hard. “I will. I promise.”
Dad managed a weak smile. “I’m proud of you, son. You would have made a fine chief.”
He breathed out his last breath and went still. Yaz hung his head a moment then crossed his father’s arms across his chest.
“Someone get me a sword,” Yaz said.
“Here.” A dark-skinned man dressed in dragonscale armor handed him a weapon.
Yaz nodded his thanks and placed the hilt in his father’s grip. Hardly a proper funeral, but it was the best he could do.
“We should have a pyre,” Calvin said. “We can’t leave his body like this.”
“Everything that was my father is gone,” Yaz said. “It’s a long way to the Central Mountains, I don’t mean to waste any time.”
“Perhaps I can be of assistance,” Silas said. “If you’ll move away.”
Yaz closed his father’s eyes, stood, and stepped back. Brigid put her arm around him and he leaned into her.
When everyone was clear, Silas raised a hand and sent a stream of lightning into the body. In seconds there was nothing left but ash and melted metal.
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