Dragonsbane (Book 3)

by Shae Ford

  “Maybe it was a dragon,” Morris said, wagging his brows.

  “There’s no such thing as a dragon left. Those wee beasties took off a long while ago,” Declan called from the gates. His feet dragged as he stepped into the courtyard. His gray eyes were heavy from the exhaustion of battle.

  And he was covered head to toe in blood.

  The pirates nearly tripped over their boots in the rush to get out of his path. Even the giants hung back behind him. They made a great show of checking their scythes for chips, glancing everywhere except at their General.

  Declan stood square-shouldered as the courtyard went quiet. Gore trickled off the end of his scythe and fell in steady drips to the ground. After a moment, the deep cleft in his brow swallowed his eyes. He mumbled something about going to clean up and had made to turn when Nadine leaned out from behind one of the tower doors.

  “There are barrels of water in here. You should wash if you mean to go inside,” she added, frowning at Declan.

  “I’ll do as I please, woman,” he growled at her.

  “Then it must please you to sleep beneath the stars, because you will not be setting foot inside until you are washed.”

  Though he made a great show of stomping for the tower, Declan’s glare wasn’t nearly as severe as it’d been before.

  Jake and Elena were the last to arrive in the courtyard. They walked slowly, tangled in some sort of heated discussion. Jake glared and straightened his spectacles an awful lot while Elena’s eyes stayed deadly calm above her mask.

  Lysander waved as they approached. “Well done with that spell!”

  They split away immediately, like two drops of oil accosted by water. Jake tugged uncomfortably on his robes. “I … I wanted the battle to end quickly. I don’t think it was well done, so much as simply … done.”

  “It was one of the most fantastic things I’ve ever seen,” Elena called over her shoulder. She strode through the ranks of pirates and straight into the castle.

  Jonathan nodded at her back. “You ought to go take a closer look at that, mate,” he said with a wink. “Go sidle up and see what she meant.”

  “She meant to exasperate me. And it’s working.” Jake cleared his throat under the others’ stares and waved a hand about him. “What happened here? Why’s everything so … ruined?”

  Jonathan’s gaze took on a dark edge. “Eh, it was probably just another one of the King’s monsters.”

  Eveningwing, who’d been watching from his perch upon the ramparts, ruffled his feathers miserably.

  Morris frowned. “You need to let that go, lad. He’s already apologized for it, and he saved your skin at Crow’s Cross. If you keep digging at an old wound you’ll get nothing but sick.”

  Jonathan shrugged, but didn’t relinquish his glare.

  They camped inside the castle’s throne room that night: a large, circular chamber with a shallow stone platform set at its rear. The throne lay on its side at the top of the platform. Its high, worn back was shattered beyond repair.

  It looked as if tapestries had once adorned the walls, but they’d been torn from their nails — leaving large holes in the wooden paneling that covered the stone.

  Jake got a fire going in the hearth while the rest of the party set up their bedrolls. The giants hefted barrels of water in from outside while the pirates refilled the canteens. Declan returned after a while, cleaner than he’d been before the battle. A smile bent his lips as he approached the throne room — though it disappeared the instant he crossed the shadow of the door.

  Dinner was well underway and the chamber was filled with happy chatter when Nadine finally arrived — leading Eveningwing the boy in by his arm. His strange yellow eyes flicked over every face in the room and he walked stiffly at Nadine’s urging.

  When Lysander caught sight of him, he raised his canteen. “There’s my favorite halfhawk! Come warm your feathers by the fire — that’s an order, by the way. Don’t force me to lock you in the dungeon,” he added with a grin.

  Two pirates scooped Eveningwing under the arms and sat him in the middle of their ranks. They shoved food into his hands and filled his cup to the brim. Under their cheerful care, the hard corners of his mouth bent quickly into a tentative smile.

  While the rest of his companions seemed thrilled by Eveningwing’s return, Jonathan’s eyes grew darker. His food went uneaten. Jake watched the fiddler from over the top of his spectacles for a moment. The leather of his gloves squeaked as he clenched his fists. Then he marched to Jonathan’s side.

  “May I sit?” When Jonathan didn’t reply, Jake sat anyways. He tugged his robes tight over his knees and cleaned the lenses of his spectacles. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet: “You know, I spent a great deal of my life under the King’s spell, bound in service to the Duke. Mostly it was just a matter of sailing here or there, protecting his ships from, well,” he waved a hand at the pirates, “that lot. But there were a few times when I got sent on other errands.

  “I remember this one errand in particular …” Jake’s thin fingers wrapped absently around his wrist. “The Duke was very angry with one of his managers. He’d lost a large number of shipments, you see — and I was ordered to punish him. Though I fought against the Duke’s command, I … I wasn’t quite strong enough.

  “I lost the fight that day,” he said quietly, his eyes distant. “I went to that manager’s house, blasted in the door … and I burned his wife alive. I burned her right in front of him, slowly, one layer of flesh at a time … I was ordered to do it slowly.”

  For a long moment, Jake was silent. His mouth fell in a grim line; the hand around his wrist tightened. “You don’t get to sleep after something like that — not really. Because every time you close your eyes, you see the flames. The screams burst your ears and you can still hear them ringing in the quiet. You come to fear the silence and the darkness. Sleep offers you no reprieve … it’s merely the stage upon which your nightmares dance.”

  Slowly, his fingers relented their hold. He placed a tentative hand upon Jonathan’s shoulder. “Try not to judge Eveningwing too harshly. Believe him when he says he couldn’t help it. Kingdom knows I’ve fought and lost … we all have.”

  “Well, maybe you didn’t fight hard enough.”

  Jonathan got to his feet, and Jake stood right behind him. “Is that really what you think? Do you think I burned that woman alive because I didn’t fight hard enough?”

  “I don’t know, mate,” Jonathan said, marching on. “Maybe you’re right — maybe Eveningwing really was under some sort of spell. All I know is that I wouldn’t have given up so easily.”

  “You think you could’ve done better?”

  “Better than letting a pack of wolves slaughter an innocent man? Yeah, I think so.”

  “Then let’s put you to the test.”

  They spoke so loudly now that the rest of the room had gone silent. All eyes were split between Jonathan and Jake. The fiddler burned under their looks for a moment before he turned, slowly, and said:

  “All right, mate. I’ll let you magic me. And if I can’t beat the spell, I’ll apologize. But if I can,” he jabbed a finger at Eveningwing, “he goes.”

  “Fair enough.” There was a strange light in Jake’s eyes as he stretched a gloved hand forward. “Walk.”

  One of Jonathan’s legs jerked out in front of him. His eyes widened. He stumbled two more steps before he started to fight back. His brows furrowed and his next step was much shallower. It wasn’t long before he’d ground to a halt.

  Jonathan raised a fist in triumph, grinning through the beads of sweat that’d popped up across his face. “See? That’s not so bad. It’d take more than that to —”

  “Silence.”

  His mouth snapped shut immediately — though judging by the bulge of his eyes, he hadn’t meant it to.

  “This spell is commonly known as borrowed legs. It was originally used to transport livestock over short distances. Levitation is better suited for th
e inanimate,” Jake explained. “Living things tend to squirm too much when lifted off the ground.

  “The problem, as you can see, is that borrowed legs is a rather weak spell — having to control so many muscles and joints means that one’s powers are stretched rather thinly, and the effects often lose their potency quickly. Unless,” he raised his other hand, “you add pain.”

  He flexed his fingers and Jonathan’s mouth opened in a silent yelp. He stumbled forward, eyes white around the dark.

  “Or rather, I suppose you add the illusion of pain — a madness that tricks the mind into believing the body is on fire,” Jake mused as he forced Jonathan another step. “It’s a spell the old Kings used to torture information from their enemies. It weakens the mind’s hold over the body and makes resistance … difficult.”

  Jonathan was walking smoothly now. His legs swung out in front of him as if he moved of his own accord.

  Jake’s thin lips bent into a smile. “See? If you don’t fight it, it doesn’t hurt.”

  “All right, you’ve made your point. I think the wee fiddler’s had enough,” Declan called.

  But Jake shook his head. “No, I haven’t. Not quite yet … but I’m about to.”

  All at once, Jonathan changed course and began marching towards Nadine.

  Declan got to his feet, but Nadine never budged. She sat cross-legged with her spear in her lap and watched Jonathan approach with interest.

  “Can you truly not speak?” she asked him.

  He shook his head.

  Jake kept both hands stretched towards Jonathan. His spectacles began sliding down his long nose as sweat beaded upon his face. “Someone, I’m not sure who, figured out a way to contain these spells inside an object and bind that object to a specific voice — so that even those without magic could command them. I was bound to the Duke’s voice. Eveningwing was bound to the King’s. And you, fiddler, are bound to mine.”

  Sometime while he’d been talking, Elena emerged from the shadows and drifted to Nadine’s side. Jake gave her a weighty look before he turned his eyes back to Jonathan and whispered a command.

  He fought. Veins bulged from Jonathan’s neck and across his forehead. His hand trembled as it moved, but move it did. His arm ground in its socket as he reached down.

  “What are you making him do?” Lysander said cautiously. By now, half the room had gotten to its feet. “Jake?”

  But Jake didn’t answer.

  Tears streamed from Jonathan’s eyes. The skin on his face turned ashen. His hand trembled for a moment more, as if he was fighting with every ounce of his being. Then suddenly, he lost the fight.

  He ripped his cutlass from its sheath, raised it over his head, and brought it screaming towards Nadine. The blow likely would’ve split her head into two, had it not been for Elena.

  Before Nadine could even flinch, she’d caught Jonathan’s sword on the hilt of one of her black daggers and wrenched it from his grasp.

  “What in high tide was that about?” Lysander barked.

  “Aye, there was no cause to do all that!” Morris piped in.

  Declan was far less calm. He snatched his scythe from the ground and roared: “I’ll kill him! I’ll cleft his head from his scrawny neck —”

  “Don’t!”

  The room fell silent at Jonathan’s cry. He’d collapsed when Jake released him and now lay in a panting mass upon the floor. When Nadine helped him to his feet, he stumbled immediately to Eveningwing.

  The halfhawk stood his ground as Jonathan approached. His strange eyes never blinked.

  “I was wrong,” Jonathan said when he reached him. “I was wrong, mate. I didn’t know … I had no idea what you’d been through, what it must’ve cost you. I’m sorry.” He held out his hand. “You’re a good hawk, and I’m lucky to count you as my friend.”

  Eveningwing raised his brows. “You’re going to be my friend again?”

  “I’d like to, if that’s all right.”

  He cocked his head to the side. “You aren’t angry at me anymore?”

  “Not in the least bit. Why don’t we just shake hands and —? Oof!”

  Jonathan stumbled backwards as Eveningwing sprang onto him. He wedged his toes into the fiddler’s side and wrapped his scruffy face tightly between his arms, smiling to either ear.

  Lysander frowned at him. “What have I told you about perching upon others in your human form?”

  “It’s all right, Captain,” Jonathan said from between his arms. “I probably deserve a bit of this.”

  Jake watched quietly as his companions returned to their dinners. The slight smile that’d formed upon his lips quickly turned serious when Elena appeared at his side. “Do you think I was too hard on him?”

  She shook her head. “He’s been huffing around and swearing at the skies for days on end. If I’d come across him on the road, I would’ve slit his throat and buried him in a ditch.” She pulled her mask down — revealing the hard line of her mouth. “That was a dangerous game you played.”

  His spectacles slid down his long nose as he raised his brows. “What do you mean?”

  “You know very well what I mean,” she said sharply. She turned her shoulder from their companions, grimacing before she turned back. “How did you know I’d stop that sword?”

  Jake shrugged. “There are very few things you care for, Elena. But that little woman from the desert is one of them.”

  Her brows dropped into a dangerous glare. “You aren’t nearly as smart as you think you are, mage.”

  “And you aren’t half as heartless,” he murmured as she stalked away.

  Chapter 35

  Amelia

  For two days straight, Kael weathered the craftsmen’s endless storm of grumbles. They muttered at his back about how pointless it was to learn to whisper themselves into armor. It wasn’t as if they would ever be any good in a fight. He was ridiculous to ask it of them, it would be ridiculous to even try.

  “Then go — march straight back to Tinnark,” he’d snapped when their moaning wore his patience thin.

  They would have gone back, and gladly. But they couldn’t be expected to make the journey on their own. There were all sorts of wild beasts roaming the woods, and the weather often made the roadways treacherous. It was a task more suited to the warriors. Perhaps if he would consider —

  “No,” Kael said firmly, cutting over the top of their pleas. “The warriors aren’t going to hold your hands down the mountain. You can either go back on your own, or you can stay. But if you choose to keep marching then you’d better listen to me — you won’t last two minutes in a battle without armor.”

  He put his foot down and kept it firmly upon the ground. No matter how they pleaded with him, he refused to lift it an inch. The craftsmen quickly realized that he was never going to budge, and they didn’t hold their ground for long.

  By the time they’d stopped to make camp on the third evening, the craftsmen had finally given up. Kael fixed them with a glare as they gathered sheepishly at his side. “Are you all going to shut it and listen to me?”

  “Yes,” they muttered.

  So he circled them and showed them how to form the dragonscale armor. They watched tentatively as he explained their texture, as he brought the memories to the tips of his fingers and let them travel along the links of their hands. They gasped when they saw how the soldiers’ sword had shattered against Kyleigh’s middle. Slowly, their excitement began to creep in.

  It was a reluctant emotion — a spark born from the warring of flint against steel. They still doubted in their ability to fight, but they accepted this small piece. They took the knowledge of how to form the armor and turned it over in their heads. He could practically hear the scraping, see the sparks flying. Once he was certain they’d grasped it, he set them loose.

  Most of the craftsmen had never donned so much as a gauntlet, and it showed. They teetered around for an hour or so, their brows squinched tightly in concentration. They took heavy, spraddl
ed steps. A few lost their balance and simply tipped over. From a distance, Kael thought they looked like an army … an army astride some rather uncomfortable invisible horses.

  “What’s the point of all this, then?” a young craftswoman said. She had to wave her arms madly to keep from tripping. “What good’ll this do us if we can’t —?”

  Kael swung a sword against her middle, and the noise of its shattering cut across her words. Her shocked gaze went from her unscathed middle to the empty hilt in Kael’s hand. And her face turned red.

  “That’s the point,” he growled. “The longer you work on this, the easier it’ll come. Soon you’ll be able to hold the vision with hardly any effort. You’ll be able to run and defend yourself. Then I’m going to teach you to carry swords.”

  “Swords?” she squeaked.

  “I’m going to make warriors out of all of you, whether you like it or not.” He tossed the hilt at her feet. “Fix that back to the way it was. Tomorrow, I’m going to crack you all with a sword. So you’d better practice.”

  They grumbled magnificently at his back. But when Kael had slipped out of the fire’s light, he glanced over his shoulder.

  Now that they thought he was gone, several of the craftsmen wore wide grins. They turned their arms over and thumped their fists into their chests, testing their scales. Their smiles only widened as they bent to inspect the shattered sword.

  Perhaps it was only the light from camp, but Kael thought he might’ve seen a bit of fire in their eyes.

  Night was falling quickly. He watched the shadows spread like inkblots, expanding until they finally overtook the earth and sky. Though his vision dulled, his body hadn’t: his feet still knew where to step, his flesh could sense if he wandered too close to a tree.

  They’d been traveling the Earl’s road for days, and in all that time he’d only gotten a few glimpses of Kyleigh. She and Silas had all but disappeared. At least Silas returned in the evenings to Gwen’s tent. But though Kael had waited long into the night, Kyleigh never showed.

  He was determined to find out where she’d been hiding.