Dragon Dawn

by Mark E. Cooper

  “To what do I owe this pleasure, Lady?” Llewyd said.

  Analise bristled at his snide tone. “I came to ask you not to fight Gydrid.”

  “Ah yes, the pretty damsel—that would be you—tries to talk the evil churl—me apparently—into sparing the life of her lover. How touching. The answer is no, but of course you knew that. You do so love your books and the silly romantic tales in them.”

  “You know he isn’t my lover.”

  “Do I?”

  She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to answer civilly. “I would never dishonour myself or my father’s good name.”

  “Well of course you would say that.”

  “Why are you doing this, Llewyd? What game do you play with us?”

  Llewyd laughed. “I should think that was obvious. I shall not be swayed from killing your young buck, Analise. For taking you and for striking me I should kill him twice over. As that is not possible, I aim to make his death a painful and humiliating one.”

  Animal!

  Analise believed he would carry out his threat and enjoy doing it as well. She had to make him rethink, but how could she make him change his mind when she didn’t know why he was doing this? She didn’t believe his reasons. He must know the rumours were false, he must know she would never dishonour her family. So why? What did he gain from this?

  She had known when she left home alone, the only woman among so many men, that she risked rumours arising from her actions, but she had never envisioned this mess. Her reputation was at stake, no small thing to any woman and doubly important for a noble lady as yet unwed. Worse than that from her perspective, a man she admired was going to die at the hands of one she despised, and all over a stupid rumour that no one believed.

  “I know you can do it, Llewyd, I know you are the better man,” she said, the words sticking in her throat. “I ask for mercy.”

  Llewyd grinned. “Now you try flattery? Beg me. Beg me to let your lover live.”

  Analise closed her eyes and forced her anger down. It simmered just below the surface, ready to burst free. “Please, I… I beg of you.”

  “Beg me on your knees—”

  Analise had acted before she knew it. The flat of her hand struck his cheek with a resounding crack. “Gydrid was right. You are filth. You’re less than horse muck beneath his boots. God, how I despise you!”

  Llewyd smiled. “Finally we hear truth from you.” He fitted his foot into the stirrup and mounted his horse. He looked down at her still smiling. “You had best get back to your lover, Analise. It will be your last night together.”

  Analise watched him ride toward the gate. “Spare him and I will marry you as our fathers wished!”

  Llewyd laughed and continued riding. “Humility is not one of your virtues, Lady. It doesn’t become you at all!”

  * * *

  Gydrid stepped out of the keep the next morning and paused to take a deep breath. The weather was fine; the grey clouds urged along by the freshening breeze had not paused to release the rain they carried. The cobblestones of the stable court were dry and even. He need not worry about his footing. His father accompanied him out of the keep, and the audience bowed to him. Gylaren acknowledged their obeisance, but his stern façade did not waiver. Gydrid had spoken to him last night, and explained the reasons behind the affair about to play out. He didn’t like it, but he understood why it had to be this way.

  Lord Llewyd stood at the centre of the courtyard. The right sleeve of his shirt had been roughly hacked away. He wore no armour. Gydrid had not expected to fight unarmoured, but technically Llewyd was the injured party and had the right to set the terms of the fight. Gydrid began unbuckling his armour and removed it. He dropped the armour near one wall and used his dagger to hack his shirtsleeve away. A loose sleeve might catch a blade. With that done, he walked to the centre of the courtyard and stopped.

  Gylaren moved to join them and surveyed the audience before addressing the combatants. “Do you both insist that the quarrel between you cannot be resolved without bloodshed?”

  “It cannot be resolved, my King,” Llewyd said. “Your son struck me before witnesses and—”

  “Yes, yes,” Gylaren said. “I am aware. Do you still feel the same, Gydrid?”

  “Yes, father. I fight for honour’s sake and Lady Analise’s reputation, which has been unjustly questioned.”

  Gylaren nodded. “Very well—” he stopped as more people arrived from the keep.

  Gydrid turned in time to see Ladies Ahnao, Julia, and Analise exiting the keep to join all the other spectators. He had hoped that Analise would remain inside, perhaps to watch from one of the windows overlooking the courtyard. Analise looked very worried, and that made him even more determined not to disgrace himself before her. Gylaren went to speak with them, probably to urge that they leave, but after a few whispered words with Julia, he returned. Gydrid frowned. His father seemed more at ease than he had.

  “As I was saying,” Gylaren went on. “The fight will go on until you both agree that honour is satisfied, or until one of you cannot continue. Gentlemen, are you in agreement?”

  Llewyd inclined his head. “Agreed, Majesty.”

  “Yes, father,” Gydrid said. He drew his sword with his right hand and handed the sheath to his father. In his left hand, he held a dagger to match the one Llewyd held.

  “On guard!” Gylaren said raising the sheath to shoulder height.

  Gydrid and Llewyd came on guard, their blades crossed near the points. The sheath touched both swords at the centre of the X they made.

  “Fight!” Gylaren lowered the sheath and stepped back.

  Llewyd lunged, his sword skittering along Gydrid’s blade to nick his arm. Gydrid dodged away but he wasn’t fast enough. The spectators gasped more at the audacity of the move than the blood soaking into Gydrid’s shirt. Llewyd had drawn first blood, but he could have received a dagger in the heart as easily. He had relied upon surprise, and it had worked. Gydrid vowed not to let it happen again. The wound was slight, the pain nothing but a slight stinging in his upper arm, but the blood made it look more dramatic. The remnant of his shirtsleeve was quickly red stained.

  Gydrid circled to his right, keeping his dagger pulled in close to his body and low. Analise thought he did not know Llewyd’s reputation, but she was wrong about that. Llewyd’s strength was his speed. He liked to use it to intimidate his opponents into making mistakes. Gydrid on the other hand wasn’t a duellist; he was a soldier trained at Meilan by battle-hardened soldiers. What he lacked in finesse, he made up for in strength and stamina… he hoped.

  Llewyd quickly lost patience with Gydrid’s wary circling and attacked. Gydrid silently congratulated himself for blocking each stroke. He offered a small attack of his own, and received another stinging cut. He hissed between clenched teeth, and felt his chest with the fingers of his dagger hand. They came away bloody, but he could tell the wound wasn’t deep. Llewyd grinned as the blood quickly soaked Gydrid’s shirt. He was fighting to wound, to humiliate his opponent by showing that Gydrid couldn’t get close to him. It was working. Gydrid’s face heated and his frustration grew, and that was dangerous. He couldn’t let his temper rule him, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t make Llewyd think it did.

  With a roar, Gydrid launched a series of wild blows and drove Llewyd back. Blow after blow rained down upon Llewyd’s sword, driving it down. At exactly the right moment, he used a move no duellist would consider, but any soldier worth the name would love. He kicked Llewyd leg’s out from under him… only it didn’t quite work out. The kick was more of a leg sweep and it did tangle one of Llewyd’s legs, but the man had the God’s own luck. Rather than fall, he staggered to the side and lashed out with his dagger. Gydrid grunted as the blade drove its full length into his thigh. By the God it hurt!

  Gydrid had the presence of mind to pull away from the still staggering Llewyd making him lose his grip on the blade. Gydrid limped backwards, and threw his own dagger through the still open d
oor of the keep. People gasped, thinking him foolish for giving away an advantage, but he only had two hands. He pulled Llewyd’s blade out of his leg to use in its stead. Blood poured out of the wound. Although it wasn’t pumping as it would if the artery had been nicked, it was bleeding heavily and the wound was serious. He tested his footing and the leg held, but he had to finish the fight quickly.

  Llewyd advanced warily, keeping his empty hand out of the way behind him. Gydrid didn’t move, wanting to husband his strength. He raised his sword and attacked low, making Llewyd jump back. Gydrid followed closely and lunged. Llewyd cried out as Gydrid’s sword scored his ribs. It was his turn to bleed, and Gydrid was savagely pleased to see it. He didn’t waste time gloating, but followed up with a slash of his dagger. Llewyd jerked his face away, but the tip of the blade scored a line over his cheekbone, through his eyebrow, and into his hair. It bled heavily, the blood running into his eye.

  Llewyd smeared the blood away, trying to see. He swung his sword back and forth to keep Gydrid at bay, and managed to block another attack. Gydrid bulled ahead, crowding Llewyd and tying to get in close to use his dagger. That was his mistake. Llewyd whirled away, grinning and ignoring his wounds. Before Gydrid could turn on his bad leg and follow, Llewyd struck.

  The audience gasped.

  Gydrid looked down in stupefaction at the shiny length of steel in his belly. Strange, it didn’t really hurt. All he felt was a cold sensation running through his insides and out his back. He heard his father cry out in protest, and a woman screaming. It was Analise. He looked back up at Llewyd’s bloody face, and shivered at the savage light in his eyes. He tensed knowing what was coming next. Llewyd twisted his blade expertly, and withdrew it. Gydrid cried out and dropped his sword, not hearing it clang upon the stones as he clutched his belly in both hands. He fell to his knees, waiting for the final blow he knew would come to send him to the God.

  “Hold!” Gylaren shouted. “Gydrid cannot continue. You have won, Lord Llewyd. Abide by the terms you agreed to or I’ll have your head, sir!”

  “Of course, Majesty, as you say. I declare myself satisfied that honour has been served…”

  Gydrid fell onto his side, and groaned as the coldness in his belly erupted into fiery pain. His father should have let Llewyd deal the death stroke. Belly wounds were an evil way to die. People crowded him, and turned him onto his back causing the agony to blaze even higher. He screamed so loud he blotted out Llewyd’s words. He pushed the hands away, kicking out, and trying to crawl away from the pain.

  “Hold him down!” Julia said.

  Hands grabbed his arms, his legs, and held him fast. “Kill me, oh god kill me…”

  “Gydrid!” Analise said sternly, and Gydrid turned his head trying to see her. “Gydrid look at me!”

  “Trying,” he said. He coughed and swallowed blood. He wanted to tell her before he died, had to tell her. “I love you, Analise… wanted to tell you before…”

  “Oh good!” Julia said cheerfully. “Gideon will be so pleased to hear that. Two weddings in two days? He’ll be delirious with joy!”

  Gydrid thought Julia’s jests at a time like this were in very poor taste, and would have told her so if he hadn’t been so surprised about what happened next. The pain vanished, replaced by a feeling of warmth and well-being. Suddenly nothing hurt, why didn’t it hurt? Was he dead already?

  “All right, it’s done. Let him up,” Julia said.

  The weight left his arms and legs and Gydrid sat up. His shirt was soaked with blood, his trousers too, but there was no pain. He ripped open his shirt and stared in disbelief at the scar. He touched it, feeling nothing but normal ridged scar tissue. Everyone suddenly backed away from him as his father approached. Gydrid quickly scrambled to his feet, just in time for his father to hug him.

  “I thought I had lost you, boy! I thought I had lost you,” Gylaren said in a thick voice.

  “I thought you had too, father.”

  Aware of the audience, Gylaren broke the hug and with suspiciously bright eyes went back into the keep. With that, the spectators quickly lost interest and wandered away. Julia and Ahnao watched as Analise hesitantly approached Gydrid, and grinned when she hugged him. Gydrid hugged her back, but tensed when Llewyd stepped toward them. He was still bleeding. Julia had obviously withheld her healing from him.

  Llewyd bowed to Analise. “Lady Analise, I apologise for giving offence last night, but I still want to declare our betrothal null and void.”

  Analise nodded. “That’s fine with me. More than fine, but tell me, what was all this for? Why challenge Gydrid when you never wanted to wed me?”

  Llewyd cocked his head and then looked meaningfully at Julia and Ahnao. They took the hint and left. “Our fathers looked with favour on the match, Analise, but I never did and I know you find me objectionable.”

  Analise shook her head in disbelief. “You did all this because you needed an excuse to break off the wedding?”

  Llewyd nodded.

  “But that’s so… so stupid! You could have killed Gydrid.”

  “I assure you I was trying very hard to do that. If not for Lady Julia I would have succeeded.”

  “That’s so cold,” Analise said.

  “You do not know my father if you think me cold. He no longer thinks you’re a suitable match for me. So all is well that ends well.”

  Llewyd bowed to both of them and strode away.

  Gydrid shook his head. “That man is not sane, but neither is he mad… not really. I wonder if he feels anything at all.”

  “I don’t want to think about him anymore. Did you mean what you said?”

  Gydrid grinned. “Well, I was dying at the time, and a man can say all kinds of silly things…” Analise’s face fell at his jesting, and he was instantly contrite. “Yes of course I did. I said I love you, and I do. I haven’t asked my father’s permission to marry you… shall we ask him together?”

  Analise looked down and in a small voice said, “You haven’t even asked me if I want to marry you.”

  Gydrid reached out and raised her chin. “I’m sorry for making light of it. I do love you. I think you’re wonderful, Analise. Will you do me the honour of marrying me?”

  Analise smiled. “Oh yes please. Yes, I will!

  * * *

  24 ~ Fallen

  Captain Corbin smiled grimly at what awaited him; an unsuspecting town, an undermanned fortress, and an easy victory. He frowned. An easy victory it might be, but it would still be one for the history books. He, the lowly son of a farmer, would pull mighty Athione down.

  He turned away from the brooding and massive walls of the fortress, to the much softer target of East Town. Its only protection was a shallow ditch and a knee-high dry-stone wall. Even that pathetic defence was tumble down. If his men had wanted to, they could have walked their horses four abreast through some of the holes.

  “Arrogant bastards,” Corbin muttered.

  Gelbert snorted. “They have a right I suppose. What need of a wall when you have the protection of Athione?”

  “Not that it will do them any good now,” Stenette said.

  Corbin nodded. Gelbert and Stenette were the strongest sorcerers assigned to his battalion, and the only two to ride to Athione with him. The others had remained behind with the General to help take Julia down.

  Two sorcerers hadn’t seemed like enough to him when the General revealed his plans, especially not after enjoying the power of twenty for so long. Still, Athione was undefended by magic these days. If it hadn’t been for the rebellion in Bandar, Lord Mortain—may he live forever—could have sent General Menelaus and his First Legion to take the fortress last year. Corbin grinned. Menelaus’ loss was his gain. Even one sorcerer would be plenty to crack open Athione and make him famous. He had two.

  “Burn the town first,” Corbin ordered.

  Stenette nodded, but Gelbert frowned. “Is that really necessary, Captain?”

  “I want whoever is in charge of the fortress
to know what will happen if they refuse to open the gate.”

  “I realise that, but we could warn them first.”

  “I’ll do it,” Stenette said eagerly, but Gelbert dropped a restraining hand on his shoulder. “Come on, Gel, they’re the enemy!”

  “There are women and children asleep in there, Sten. I have seen death by fire. It’s not a good death.”

  Corbin shook his head. To his mind, there was no such thing as a good death.

  “What do you want me to do, Gel?”

  Gelbert patted his friend’s shoulder. “Thank you. Set the stables on fire first. I’ll raise the alarm and wake everyone. Then together we’ll make sure the fire spreads to the rest of the town.”

  Stenette threw a fireball toward the town as his answer. The wind of its passage through the air made it roar. It hit the stables next to the inn—the big one near the centre of town—and fire took a strong hold almost immediately. Feeding the fire with his magic, Stenette soon had the entire roof ablaze.

  Gelbert raised his hands and yelled, “Fire! Call the watch. Fire!”

  Corbin shook his head in amazement. Gelbert’s voice boomed and seemed to come from a dozen different directions at once, all within the town. It wasn’t long before the town’s inhabitants awoke to the alarm, and soon hundreds of people were running for the wells with buckets.

  “Now?” Stenette asked.

  Gelbert nodded. “Now we give our dear captain his conflagration. Watch carefully, and do as I do.”

  * * *

  Lady Jessica awoke, to find a shadowy figure reaching for her. She shrank back, a scream building in her throat, but stifled it when she recognised Elise, Athione’s seneschal. What was the woman playing at, scaring her like that?