“Yes! And so should you be! He is the only hope for Osghast. Malik is a Dragon Lord, yes, but he was made one…” She hesitated. The story sounded so unbelievable. And Thalia could tell that Balan was already so frightened that he wasn’t willing to take a risk. “He is Christophe’s son and heir to the throne of Osghast!”
Balan gave a snort of disbelief, shaking his head and turning to leave.
“Please! I’m telling you the truth!”
“The Wyrm of Gwynfir is the crown prince of Osghast? You’re mad!”
“I wish I was,” Thalia spat. “But it’s true. Queen Katrin was cursed by the queen of the fairies! She gave birth to twins: one perfect on the inside but black as night in his heart. The other was distorted. A horrible monster yes, but believe me… his heart is true.”
“So true that he was responsible for the deaths of so many!”
Thalia nodded sadly. “Yes. He was angry, so full of vengeance for his father and the entire kingdom for casting him out. But Balan, he is changed! The curse is broken and… he is our only hope. Osghast will fall if we allow Tristan to wage war.” She grabbed Balan’s hand and held it tight, forcing him to look into her face. “You already know this to be true.”
Balan sighed, hanging his head in defeat. “Tristan is young and foolish. He believes he knows how to rule simply by being born, but in the short time he’s been in power... The people are starving. The market towns are derelict. There is nothing to sell! Merchant ships are washing up, completely stripped. Pirates from neighboring kingdoms are starving us to death. Tristan says they’re rogue thieves, but there have been too many of late to be random. Some say that they’re being sanctioned by the governments. Tristan was right about that. Christophe’s enemies were aligning against him, but he ignored their threat. Now I fear it may be too late.”
“And Tristan would mistake cruelty for strength. His foolish means will result in the loss of so many lives.” Thalia looked upward into Balan’s eyes. His resolve was crumbling. “Please, Balan. We don’t have much time.” Suddenly, as if to emphasize her words, there was screaming coming from the courtyard below. Both rushed to the window. Just over the tree line, a dragon soared against the dusky clouds. Thalia gasped as it circled the city, breathing fire into the air. “Malik,” she whispered.
The siren bell began to ring from the battlements, alerting the townspeople of an attack. Any second, guards would begin pouring from the keep and surrounding the gates. The initial confusion would serve them well. She turned to Balan, holding her breath.
“Come on. We don’t have much time.”
Balan led Thalia to the door, a fingertip poised over his lips. There was a guard outside the door that they would have to get past first. This would require a weapon: one luxury no one had afforded her. She looked around for something, anything she might use to fight. The tray of food Balan had brought was still sitting by the door. She reached down and picked it up, turning it over and throwing the bowl of stew aside. “What are you going to do with that?” Balan whispered.
“Just trust me.” She nodded, and he knocked at the heavy wooden door.
“Open the door!” Balan shouted. “I’m done.” As soon as he said it, they both stepped back as the guard opened the door. For a split second, he was confused, not seeing anyone there. It was enough opportunity for Thalia to dart around the door and swing the silver tray with all her might. It connected with the guard’s forehead with a resounding thud. It didn’t knock him out at first, and he stumbled backward.
“What the fuck…” the guard groaned.
Balan was nothing if not brave and delivered a knee to the guard’s groin as he tried to go for his sword. When he fell forward with a shriek of pain, it gave Thalia the opportunity to smash the tray over his head once more, knocking him cold.
Balan stared at her in disbelief. Thalia shrugged and threw the tray aside. “The element of surprise. Get his sword.” Balan did as he was told and pulled the heavy sword from the guard’s belt. It was almost bigger than he was, and he stumbled clumsily.
“Hurry. The others will have heard that!” she hissed, reaching for the sword.
“You’ll never carry this. Get behind me, lass.”
Thalia looked at him as if he’d taken leave of his senses. “Give it to me.” His eyebrows shot up in amazement as she swung the sword a few times, testing its weight. Thalia might well be the bride of a Dragon Lord, but she was no princess. She would always be the Huntress. A slayer of Tarkin. “Let’s go.”
They were surprised to find no one as they slowly made their way down the long, winding staircase. They could hear commotion below, and evidently the entire castle guard was rushing to the gates to defend against the dragon attack. Their escape was almost too easy, but Thalia knew it wouldn’t last. As soon as they emerged into a main corridor, they’d be spotted. Her tattered dress and hair flying about in a messy halo would give them away. Not to mention that Balan just looked suspicious: eyes darting everywhere, jumping at every sound. “Is there a back way to the gates?” she hissed, pressing their bodies against the stone wall as a couple of servants rushed past.
“There is a secret door in the library that leads into the servant stairs.”
Thalia thought about how she’d helped Enke escape. It seemed like a lifetime ago. “How far do the servant stairs go?”
“All the way into the dungeons,” Balan replied. “But that will only trap us there!”
Thalia shook her head. “No. It will take us to the river.” She grabbed his arm and tugged him toward the main corridor. She peeked from around the corner and saw scores of people running amok. Every now and then there would be a dragon roar and more screaming. As they passed through one conduit after another, Thalia caught glimpses of the chaos outside. Guards had already begun to surround the castle. Which posed a problem for them as the idea was an impenetrable shield around the perimeter. No one would be able to get in or out. “We have to move quickly. Soon there’ll be no getting out of here.”
They sprinted along, keeping their heads down and praying that no one would notice them. Thalia kept her sword carefully hidden in the folds of her skirt, but it was growing heavy with her awkward grip. “This way,” Balan said. They turned down a seemingly endless hall that was, thankfully, completely deserted. “The doors are at the end of the hallway. As soon as we get inside, I’ll bolt them, and you find the rolling ladder. It will take us to the second floor of shelves. There’s a portrait of Queen Katrin there, and the door to the secret stairs is behind it. Of course, we’ll have to find the lever to open it.”
“The lever?”
“Yes, a switch that will unlock the door.”
“All right, what is it?”
Balan shrugged. “I have no idea. No one’s used that passage in a hundred years.”
“What?” Thalia shrieked. “You might have shared that little kernel of knowledge before now!”
Balan started to reply when they heard a clatter behind them.
“Oy!”
“Oh shit,” Thalia whispered. They stopped dead in their tracks, not wanting to turn around. “What do we do?”
“Get to the stairs,” Balan muttered. His gaze met hers, and his hand closed over the hilt of the sword she still carried. “Don’t look back.”
“Balan!” she cried. But it was already too late. With a bellowing howl, Balan ran at the two guards that were coming toward them, wielding the oversized sword. He swung it at the guards clumsily, the blade making a resonating clang as it bounced off their armor. It shocked her into action, and she ran off down the hall, trying not to hear her friend’s cries of pain.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Grafton ran through the corridors in a blind panic as the dragon flew over the city. His stubby legs carried him clumsily up the stairs that led to the Great Hall. He’d been all over the castle searching for Tristan and come up short. Chaos was taking over in Thane, and the guards were overwhelmed. Grafton had tried to warn as many people
as possible to get away, but it was as if no one could make a move without Tristan’s direction. And the king was noticeably absent. The sound of the bolt tower collapsing as it burst into flames had drawn Grafton into action. He realized that the fortress was ridiculously unprepared for a dragon attack. Everyone knew that dragons would defend their treasure viciously and violently, and this girl Thalia was obviously the dragon’s treasure. For the first time, Grafton was beginning to regret his alliance with Tristan. The boy was reckless, and though Grafton hadn’t particularly liked Christophe, he hadn’t wished him any ill will. Servants were already murmuring rumors that Tristan had killed his own father and was pinning it on this innocent girl.
“Grafton!” He stopped short, nearly bowling over a serving girl who was rounding the corner to run, screaming down the stairs. He turned to see Tristan and three guards coming toward him. The king was dressed for battle, having already donned his father’s armor. He looked more serene than Grafton had seen him in ages. As if he were feeding on the chaos like a vampire sucking virgin blood. “Why are you running about?”
Grafton panted, bowing to the king as he tried catching his breath. “Sire… I’ve been looking all over for you.”
“Obviously not. Otherwise you’d have found me in my chambers.”
“Sire, the dragon has come to Thane! He’s burned a perimeter around the castle grounds, and the men are overrun!”
“You say this like I’m blind and stupid, Grafton. That was the plan all along…”
“But sire, the people are running amok! Including our own knights!” Tristan looked stricken. Clearly he hadn’t expected his own army to run and hide like frightened rabbits. “The dragon has destroyed the bolt tower already! And it appears that some kind of skirmish has broken out between the castle guard and some of the militiamen.”
Before Tristan could respond, a servant intercepted them. She bowed low, her head kerchief falling at the king’s feet. It was obvious she’d been running. Sweat poured from her brow and collected between her meaty breasts. “Sire… the girl. The one who killed King Christophe…”
Tristan looked down on the woman, a look of contempt and disgust on his face. “What of her?”
“She’s gone! Escaped!”
He grabbed the woman roughly by the arms as if he might shake the information from her. “Gone where?”
“One of the guards saw her heading for the ruined battlements!”
Tristan threw the woman aside. If that little wench escaped, then all his leverage would be gone. “Find the captain! Send whatever guards we have left to find her! She mustn’t escape!”
“But sire,” Grafton sniveled, practically running to keep up with him. “We don’t have the resources! In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a dragon out there!” As if to emphasize his words, a roar shook the castle. Grafton ran to the window and stared out at the burnished landscape. His eyes widened as the dragon blocked out the horizon, coming in close. He was playing with them. Challenging them. “By the gods…”
“Relax, Grafton. We don’t have to. Those men down there are just a diversion. No one is to touch the dragon. He’s mine.”
“But sire…women and children… We need to get them to safety!”
“He’s mine!”
Belladonna should have warned him that with his true form came emotions like fear, foreboding, and caution. Malik soared along the ridge line, watching the citizens of Thane scatter like roaches in the light beneath him. As he spit impotent fire into the sky, he could feel the fire burning in his chest and throat. He didn’t remember it being quite so unpleasant before. Not to mention that his normal aerial acrobatics made his heart rush in a way it hadn’t before. The fear of dying was there now. Not his own death, but Thalia’s. He had to put her face out of his mind as he swooped low, burning a path through the trees along the avenue.
If Tristan wanted to lure him in, then Malik would not disappoint. A scaffold had been constructed in the center of the courtyard and already a large catapult was being heaved up the side of it. He almost laughed. They meant to shoot him down with arrows of iron. He’d seen such clumsy instruments before, and he could easily outrun them. No, he fully intended to meet Tristan face to face as a man. His dragon form was only a distraction to that end. As soon as Silas and his men from the forest were in place, he would walk right through the castle gates. Once more he dove, swiping at the guards who carried the catapult up the scaffold. His talons grazed the makeshift tower, shattering the planks in a shower of splintered wood. With another spout of fire, the scaffold was devoured in a column of flame.
Flying low, he took pleasure in watching the guards duck and run from him. Cowards! All but one. He was tall and lean with greasy hair and a rusted crossbow. His uniform was like the others, but instead of the royal purple of the knights, a heavy chain mail covered him, and Malik’s superior vision could just make out the royal crest etched into his chest plate. This man was of importance. The captain of the royal guard. The man raised his weapon and took aim, but Malik was too quick. He swooped in and grabbed the guard in his talons. As soon as they touched, he saw Thalia screaming. This man had been the one who took her, beating her and throwing her into a prison of stone and mortar.
Malik shot into the sky, spiraling toward the clouds. The guard squirmed and tried to stab at the dragon’s flesh, but Malik’s scales were far too thick for such a thing. “Foul beastie!” he shouted. The harder the man fought, the tighter Malik’s grip. Faster and faster Malik streaked into the sky, through the clouds and toward the moon itself.
“Do you want to fly, sir?” Malik growled.
“Let me go!” the captain shouted back.
“A very poor choice of words.”
As the captain of the guard plummeted toward the earth, Malik followed in a graceful dive. Just before they hit the ground, Malik pulled up fast and jerked the captain from the clutches of his demise. He threw the man aside like a discarded child’s toy as he landed in the center of the courtyard. With a roar of flame, Malik’s body twisted and shrank. His scales split along his back, rearranging themselves back to the form fitting armor as his human form pushed through. In a matter of seconds, he stood before the remaining guardsmen between him and the gates. All of them, including the dazed captain, stared at the Dragon Lord awestruck. Malik stepped on the hilt of the captain’s discarded sword, flipping it into his hand with a grace that could only be accomplished by the Fae. The knights gripped their weapons but made no move to engage. Malik was amused as they looked from one to the other, wondering if they should attack. Only one of them was brave enough to step forward, sword raised.
“Throw down your weapon in the name of the king!”
“Careful, boy.” The old captain, Silas, stepped to Malik’s side. “You don’t want to be biting off more than you can chew.”
The knight smirked. “Well, there seem to be more of us than of you,” he said, gesturing to the other knights that were walking toward them, looking apprehensive. Out of the corner of his eye, Malik saw the other woodsmen close rank behind the knights. “Throw down now, and we won’t have to run you through.”
Malik chuckled low. “That would be tremendously ambitious of you.” He nodded to the others, and they closed in behind the guards, making quick work of disarming them.
“Silas!” Malik shouted. “Bind these men so that they might think on their allegiances.”
“Aye, sire!” He began barking orders to the others. Before long, the woodsmen had bound the castle guards. When it was done, Silas looked to his king. “What now?”
“Keep them here for now. They can either choose to follow their true sovereign, or rot in the dungeons beneath the castle.” Malik turned, hearing a weak and watery chortle. The captain crawled across the mucky ground toward where Malik stood. His legs were broken, and it was obvious that every breath was more painful than the last.
“Sire? He calls you sire. What use is that? The allegiance of a simple, grubby farmer only fit
to patrol the roads? King Tristan will make short work of you and your ragtag gang of simpletons, and then your precious bride will burn in your own fires!”
Malik could feel the fire of his rage flaring deep in his belly. He grabbed the captain by the neck, pulling him off his feet. “I spared you once, but I’m not likely to make the same mistake again.”
The captain chuckled again, trailing off into gasping coughs. “I’m already dead, beastie. My body is broken…”
“There’s still time to hurt you,” Malik snarled. “Tell me where she is!”
“Do you know how they execute prisoners for treason, beastie? They’re impaled. A wooden pole shoved through the most intimate orifice.”
“Shut up!”
The captain gurgled and laughed, dangling in Malik’s grip. “It must be like getting fucked by a dragon!” Malik’s strength betrayed him, and a slight squeeze crushed the man’s throat, quieting his taunts.
“Tristan!” he shouted to the skies. His voice resonated off the walls of the castle, rumbling and rolling like thunder. The windows rattled in their frames, some of them shattering and raining glass down on the courtyard below. “Come forth and face me, brother!” He dragged the body of the ruined captain of the guard toward the portcullis. Once reaching it, he searched the inside of the captain’s cloak and pulled out the gate key before throwing the carcass aside.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
There is an ancient legend that the castles of Osghast were constructed according to plans designed by Queen Mab herself. The bowels of the fortress were a twisted, turning labyrinth from which no prisoner would escape and no intruder could hope to penetrate. During times of war, the people could hide in the dungeons safely for weeks of siege. As Thalia tried to navigate the hidden stairs, she was becoming increasingly convinced of the legend’s truth. Dank with mold and sparkling with condensation, the close walls of the corridor were like crawling through a tomb. In places, the stairs were so narrow that Thalia had to turn sideways to move. In others they would end at a long passageway that stretched into darkness.
Huntress: A Paranormal Romance Page 22