The Might of Magic

by N M Zoltack

  Tatum brushed past him, not close to him at all. Clearly, she was avoiding him.

  She grabbed some of cloths Edmund hadn’t used yet, and she returned to her task at the spot where Dudley died.

  He stood over her a moment, wondering and worrying if he should use one of the cloths to clean the rest of the blood, to help her, but he did not wish to overstep, and he wasn’t certain if she would appreciate that. All he wanted was to make her life easier, but he did not know for certain how to do just that.

  “Do you want me to arrange for his burial?” he finally murmured.

  She paused in her efforts, leaned back slightly from her position on the floor, but then returned to work without a word.

  Edmund ran a hand down his throat. He was not certain where precisely he should bury Dudley. Should he ask the queen about it? And he had not even thought about telling his parents, not until this very second, and he did not relish the task at all.

  But it must be done, and a knight never shirked from his duties, and above all else, Edmund was a knight. He would do as he must, and he would do nothing less.

  “I will see if one of the other guards will assist me with the burial,” Edmund said. “You do not have to…”

  He trailed off. Had he been about to say fear? Worry? Surely she felt no fear, but worry? If Dudley owed any person coins, would they come to her to seek the debt repaid? Could she afford to handle Dudley’s debts? Maybe Edmund was wrong in thinking Dudley had any debts to begin with.

  Or maybe she was merely grieving her dead husband, and he was impeding upon her when all she wished for was solitude.

  Out of respect, Edmund bowed to her even though she did not look up to see him, and he marched out of the door and headed toward the barracks, but each step felt as if he stepped in sinking sand. He hated to leave her and thought this wrong of him, but what else could he do?

  Tatum. A lovely vision with her steely blue eyes and her brown locks that framed her delicate face, but she herself was not delicate. No, she fought hard for Tenoch, staying up all hours of the night to create potions to help the knights so that they could face their foes—the hordes who sailed on boats from Vincana to their shores—and be victorious on the field of battle.

  She was intelligent, kind, fierce, and despite himself, she had claimed his heart.

  But it also plagued Edmund terribly that he did not feel the sting of grief himself, that instead he only worried about his deceased brother’s wife.

  What kind of a man was he to do such a thing?

  A shout rose up from the barracks, and soldiers and knights were racing away, all fully armored and armed with as many weapons as they could be.

  Long-ranged weapons Edmund realized as he gaped at them racing to the stables.

  Jurian Hansen, a fellow knight, raced over to Edmund. He shoved a helm over his black hair. “Why aren’t you getting ready?”

  “I…”

  “It’s the castle!” Jurian shouted.

  “It’s under attack?”

  “From the dragons!”

  “How many?” Edmund asked, dread filling his heart.

  “The messenger said he thought all three,” Jurian said grimly. He clapped Edmund hard on the back. “Prepare yourself for a battle you might not survive.”

  Edmund nodded dully. Was that not the case with every battle, though?

  4

  Ulric Cooper

  The moment Ulric Cooper heard the first fiery blast, he unsheathed his sword and raced through the castle. He had to have appeared such a sight, like a madman, with his sword out like that, but he hadn’t cared. He even had to dash to the side to avoid servants and other persons. The castle had become very crowded as of late, overly crowded, as Rosalynne had allowed as many who wished to enter the castle and stay behind its walls for the safety it afforded them.

  Safety that was now no longer afforded to any of them.

  As he rushed around through the keep, he would see glimpses of the fires burning from the giant maws of the dragons. Their impressive wingspans captivated him, and once, they flapped those wings in the direction of the glassless window he raced past, and the wind knocked him into the back wall as he struggled to climb the winding stairwell.

  Finally, he raced to the alure and only then slowed his pace, looking about. He felt utterly foolish to be brandishing his sword as if that could possibly help him at all, considering the dragons were not nearly close enough for him to make use of the blade, and if they were that close, he would have, at most, only seconds left to live.

  But he would give those precious few seconds to attempt to bring one of the dragons down. He would fight until he died for Tenoch.

  For Rosalynne.

  He knew it were stupid, that he should not have such feelings for the queen. At one time, not that long ago, he had been a simple servant. Then, some deemed him a kidnapper even though he had taken the princess away from the castle in an attempt to ensure no one acted against her as someone had murdered Prince Noll. Vivian, however, had given him no choice, and he had returned without her, and so Ulric had been a prisoner. Now, he was a free man, a servant no longer. If anything, he was a leader of a group of peasants turned into a militia known as Forbidden Doom. Not the name Ulric would’ve chosen, but then again, Ulric wouldn’t have chosen a name. One of the members perished, but only after securing a promise from Ulric that the name would be as he wished had the name come to be. Gomes. If he could see the dragons…

  Speaking of Gomes, where were the rest of his militia? Ulric tucked his sword back into his sheath and hurried over to the closest guard.

  “Where is the queen?” Ulric asked.

  “Ah, I… I… The arrows. I’m to fetch… Arrows aren’t going to do anything.” The terror in the guard’s eyes infuriated Ulric. The man was a knight, but he was acting as if he had never stepped foot into a battlefield.

  With a scowl, Ulric rushed along the alure. Every so often, he had to duck to avoid the flames that burst out of the dragon’s mouths. They crashed their tails into towers, creating dents and leaving impressions on the stone. Pebbles and larger chunks of stones fell to the ground, and everywhere, people shrieked and screamed and cried.

  Ulric yanked the bow from his back and reached for an arrow in his quiver. He tried to always be prepared, but for some reason, his quiver wasn’t nearly full. He tried to line up a shot, but all three dragons were not nearly in range, although he had to agree with the guard on one point. He did not think the arrows would do much at all against the might of the dragons.

  Could they use fire—No. The dragons had fires burning in their bellies. No, a fiery arrow would work well against wooden ships as they had demonstrated in the past, but the likes of that same weapon against dragons would prove foolhardy.

  Regardless, volleys of arrows flew in the air, and Ulric cursed the guards and knights. There were innocents blow, and what went up must come down, and the arrows were far more likely to find targets in the soft flesh of the people versus the mighty scales of the dragons.

  Ulric reached the end of the alure, and he tried to duck back inside the keep, but the mob of soldiers and knights fighting to get onto the alure hindered him. He had to get to Queen Rosalynne. If the dragons were trying to target her, to get to her…

  Would they do that? Did they have a specific target in mind? These were not like the stories of the dragons Ulric had been told when he had been a young servant boy of only six or seven. Well, he hadn’t been told the stories. He had overheard the older servants talking about them. They had been arguing about whether or not the dragons were real, and then they argued about whether the Fates cared about anyone or if even they existed or not.

  The Fates were said to be impartial, only concerned with their aspect of the world—Life, Death, Chaos, and Peace.

  The dragons three had been said to have tried to keep the humans good and kind, away from darkness.

  A blast of orange and red flickered in the peripheral of Ulric’s
vision. Well, the dragons clearly wanted to banish the darkness away still, but was it that they also sought to banish away the people as well?

  5

  Rase Ainsley

  Rase Ainsley was a lot of things, but above all, he was a survivor. He had outlived his parents, and he had done whatever it was that was necessary to live, no matter what it meant he had to do, and yes, that meant thievery even though thieving was the reason why his pa had been killed.

  His actions against others had caused his sister to be attacked, for his ma to be killed.

  Still, Rase would not give up. He and Leanne would get out of Atlan. They would leave. Atlan was the capital of Tenoch, and for the most part, the city was huge and vast and luxurious for most of its citizens, but not for the people like Rase and his family. No, they lived in the slums, and the baron who ruled over the area where Rase lived—Baron Godric Ackles—refused to help Rase, so Rase had taken matters into his own hands.

  And Leanne, his sister, had been attacked again.

  For a time, he thought she might be lost to him, not physically. Her wounds were nearly all healed by now if not entirely gone. No, mentally. She had been so very silent and quiet that he feared she had lost her ability to talk at all, but now, she would talk about the dragons all the time. It seemed as if she thought the dragons had returned for them, to save them from their plight. No, that was not the case. Not at all. No one would help them.

  But Rase had to think. He had to think about what to do. He had given a lot of his money away to a man, Dudley Hill, who had wanted to build a hotel, and each week, Dudley was to pay Rase. The hotel seemed to be doing well, very well in fact, better than Rase ever thought the dark-blond-haired, gray-eyed man could ever accomplish. If Rase could convince him to give Rase back his money, Dudley could be free from his debt, and Rase could take Leanne far from Atlan.

  It would hurt, though, to leave behind the house he had arranged for them. A real house, not like the shack he and his parents and Leanne had lived in. It had been terrible, honestly, to live there, so many terrible memories from the sight of his ma and sister being attacked and bloodied and all of those nights when he had gone to sleep hungry…

  Yes, he would go and see Dudley now.

  He hurried through the streets, sticking to the shadows whenever he could, keeping his head down while still keeping an eye out to see who he was approaching. He’d been attack recently himself, too often in fact, and he did not want to be caught unawares.

  But when he reached Tranquil Wolf Hotel, Rase’s heart sunk. He didn’t hear the chatter and laughter of people. There was no pouring of ale and music playing.

  There was only silence.

  Even the sign had been defaced, and the door had one word written upon it in a haphazardly manner.

  Closed.

  What in the world?

  Fury laced through Rase. Had Dudley decided to run off and take Rase’s money with him? Had he somehow gotten into trouble with some of the thugs and lowlives who frequented the place? That wouldn’t surprise Rase at all.

  He tried to open the door, but it was locked, not that that deterred the street rat. He merely found a suitable rock from the cobbled path and hurled it at the glass window. Shards flew about everywhere, raining down, casting glints of speckled light everywhere.

  Rase climbed inside and went to drop onto the floor, but the furniture had been shoved against the walls, so he stepped onto an overturned chair and jumped down to the floor.

  No one was there. No one.

  It was clear enough to see what had happened. There had been a massive fight. Blood remained on the floor.

  Careful not to step in the various blood puddles, Rase made his way behind the bar. Almost all of the coins had been snatched away, but there were a few in the various pouches. Rase seized them all, and then, he hurried upstairs, checking out each of the rooms, hiding a few more coins here and there. To his surprise, he even found a loose board and underneath it was a fat pouch. Inside were gemstones that even Rase could tell were fake, but he collected them too.

  Then, he returned to the first floor and checked out the kitchen. Nothing worthwhile there, although there was a bit of food. He’d return after he looked over the last two rooms.

  The first was empty, but the second housed Dudley’s dead body.

  For a long moment, Rase stood over the fallen form of his business associate. A wave of nausea washed over Rase. Death followed him everywhere he went. Maybe he was cursed. Maybe all of the Ainsleys were cursed.

  Maybe he would be next.

  It was foolish to think he had some kind of darkness within him that had spread to claim the lives of his pa and ma and now Dudley, too, but they hadn’t been the only ones to come in close contact with him and died. Maxene Byron, Leanne’s best friend, and her baby had died as well. The babe hadn’t even lived at all. Or maybe a moment. Rase couldn’t even recall.

  Was this punishment? Rase had taken lives, but only after his pa had died, after Maxene and the baby had. Revenge… It wasn’t revenge. It hadn’t been revenge. It had been justice.

  Justice because the crown wouldn’t have.

  Justice for those who he had cared for and had died.

  Justice for all those used and abused by those with their fancy titles and lands and furnished houses.

  Rase stared down at Dudley. The man’s eyes were mostly closed, but Rase made sure they were entirely shut.

  Someone had painted the sign on the door. Someone had been around, but at this point, Rase had to take this as a signal. He and Leanne had to get out of here as soon as they could. Even if they didn’t have enough for a house. Even if he would have to rely on stealing again once they reached whatever town or city they would live in.

  Rase burst out of the hotel. He didn’t make it very far before he realized he was being followed. Someone was trailing him.

  Despite Rase’s best efforts and even think he had lost the guy twice, Rase grew nervous. The tail was just too good.

  And then, the tail just disappeared, which made Rase very, very nervous.

  The closest building was a tavern Rase couldn’t step for in again. He decided to duck inside anyhow and headed toward the back. Sometimes, all you had to do was pretend you belonged where you were going, and no one would say differently. He kept that in mind as he headed through the kitchen and out the back door.

  Where the tail was waiting for him.

  A guy he knew.

  “Nuno Balfager,” Rase said easily even though his heart was in his throat.

  The scar on Nuno’s throat shifted as the towering man swallowed. Without a word, he flashed a blade and tried to strike Rase, aiming for his heart.

  Rase ducked under his arm and raced back through the back door of the tavern. “He’s got a dagger, and he means to kill us all!” he shouted as he entered the tavern proper.

  People screamed and shifted about, unsure what to think of Rase’s proclamation, but Nuno did follow him, the ignorant fool, chasing after Rase.

  Now, the crowd screamed even more, racing for the door, and Rase slipped into the crowd.

  An assassination attempt. By one of the men he had hired to take out someone else.

  Rase really was getting what he deserved, which was fine, he supposed. Live by the sword. Die by the blade. That he got.

  But his sister? She didn’t deserve to die like his ma had, but Rase honestly didn’t know if either of them would make it out of Atlan alive.

  6

  Sir Edmund Hill

  As quickly as he possibly could, Edmund changed into his armor and grabbed two spears. He hadn’t often had need to fire arrows while wearing a full set of armor, but to face the dragons without every long-ranged weapon they had in their arsenal would be folly.

  He raced to the stable, expecting it to be almost empty. If there weren’t a horse within its wooden walls, he would have to run along until he located a horse, any horse and bear it away in the name of the queen. He could return i
t after the battle… if the horse survived.

  If he survived.

  There was one horse remaining. Unarmored. Unsaddled. Edmund had to waste even more time fixing both accounts. Where was the stable hand? Why weren’t any on hand? Perhaps they had run off to join the battle at the castle.

  Or perhaps they had run off to try to ensure they did not become burned carcasses.

  The armor fit Edmund well, but this particular horse was smaller than most, and so the armor would not rest properly. Still, Edmund managed as best he could as he was unsure if the armor might help to protect the horse some or if the horse would merely be burned alive regardless.

  Finally, at long last, he mounted the horse, and he rode to the castle as swiftly as he could. He held the tip of his spear firmly in his armpit as if he were charging from this very spot all the way to the dragon in front of the castle. If he could slay one of the foul beasts, he would.

  The dragons of old had been good and kind, but for the dragons to turn against Queen Rosalynne… She was precisely the kind of queen Tenoch needed. No, not all of the kings and queens since the dragons had died had been good and wise. Some had been downright horrific, cruel, and dastardly, laying devastating waste to their lands and their own people.

  But right now, the dragons were doing precisely that. They were a threat, and knights were charged with eliminating any and all threats.

  Even fire-breathing winged monstrosities.

  The sound of the horse’s hooves on the cobbles and grass echoed along with the jostling of his armor against the horse’s when he realized another sound had added to the orchestra that sounded for his impending doom, that of another rider.