Siege of Draestl

by Randall Seeley

  We have practiced this hundreds of time. We are ready. He was impressed that Malithan’s saying about the relationship between preparation and fear was actually true.

  The main gate towers were designed to be the initial gathering point for leadership and provided a great view of the entire valley. As he reached the Wolves’ location, he glanced at the empty valley. They could see the open fields for hundreds of feet before it reached the woods. If anything is coming, we’ll see them well before they arrive.

  Malithan began giving orders to the other companies and watched as the captains quickly left to man their stations at separate towers. Wayd followed his lead and turned to the Wolves’ lieutenants.

  Owen stood with one hand on his sword and the other against the parapet. He shifted his feet uncomfortably as he looked from Wayd to the open field and back. He looked like he wished he was anywhere other than here.

  Gauden Thyme stood next to him. The big man smiled reassuringly as Wayd looked at him, but Wayd could see the uneasiness in his friend’s eyes. That alarmed him because Gauden was rarely unsettled.

  The third lieutenant that should have been there was Jesop Flak—leader of the scouting patrols. The thought of Jesop made his stomach turn.

  “You all right, Wayd?” Gauden asked, concerned.

  Wayd nodded. “I was thinking of Jesop,” he lamented. He shook his head to clear it, and tried to change the subject quickly. “Where’s Gareck Bo? Isn’t he back from the morning watch by now?” Gareck was the next scout in line after Jesop.

  “No signs of him,” Owen replied. “He was on first watch? Then he probably met the same fate as the others, and who knows if any of them are left! They…well…” He trailed off.

  “What happened?” Wayd asked. His heart beat faster. Are any of them left? He realized he had never received a full report from Owen because things had moved too fast.

  Owen looked out at the valley and shuddered. Wayd could tell that Owen was trying to avoid him, so he turned to Gauden for the information.

  “Seeker Bonnie felt an impression and then it suddenly disappeared. The sorcery of the whole thing was enough to put us on edge, so we decided to march back as quickly as possible,” Gauden began reluctantly. “At first, it was rather normal. Jesop and the scouts led the way and reported at regular intervals and they made sure we didn’t stumble into anything. Honestly, I was a little frustrated because it was slowing us down and I was tired and wanted to get some much-needed sleep. But then it all started to change…” His eyes grew distant for a moment as he trailed off.

  “What changed?” Wayd asked, eager to discover what had happened.

  “We never saw them,” Gauden continued. “But Seeker Bonnie and Templar Annette felt them. Impressions of dragons! Everywhere! Every few seconds! Wayd, the first impressions they felt were just the beginning. We were surrounded!”

  A hushed silence fell over them as Gauden recalled the events. Wayd felt a shiver cascade down his spine. Dragons? Multiple dragons?

  “Somehow, Jesop knew that they were all around us,” Gauden continued. “So what began as a normal march back became a wild chase through the forest. We abandoned the trail almost immediately, and he led us on a series of switchbacks. It became such a series of back and forth that even I grew disoriented!”

  “Eventually, the forest became so thick that we had to stop. And lo and behold, there was a message from Jesop instructing us to leave the supplies so we could move faster,” Owen picked up the story.

  “Did you?” Wayd asked suddenly, unable to hide the panic in his voice. Those supplies were the next month’s provisions. He looked down into the courtyard beyond where the rest of the Wolves stood mobilized. It was also where he should have seen the supply wagons. There wasn’t a single one.

  “We had to, Wayd! Would you have done anything different?” Owen asked defensively.

  “I’m not saying you made the wrong decision, Owen,” Wayd replied quickly. He could tell Owen was on edge. He could feel his own adrenaline rising. No more supplies?

  “Don’t mind him,” Gauden said softly. “What we saw…”

  “What did you see?” Wayd asked.

  “The others are moving into position,” Malithan said as he approached. When he saw the looks on their faces, he nodded. “You’re reporting? Any idea of what’s going on?”

  “They are in the process of reporting,” Wayd answered. “Gauden, please continue.”

  Gauden nodded and took a deep breath to settle his emotions before he could continue. “After we abandoned the wagons, the path Jesop led us on was bizarre. At first I wondered if he’d gone mad, because it felt like we were circling out of the way—and in the opposite direction. I still don’t know why he took us so far, but I think it was because he ran into trouble. I think we were avoiding something.”

  “Avoiding what?” Wayd asked. “Did you see anything?”

  “No,” Owen answered. “Jesop’s trail kept us wide. And the trail markers he left were specific enough that we knew he was having us avoid something. It was wide enough it was as if we were avoiding a massive army!”

  “We don’t know for certain,” Gauden cautioned, “but I agree with Owen. We were avoiding something big. And Seeker Bonnie and Templar Annette kept having impressions. Dragons were all around us!”

  Wayd swallowed as he processed the information. Malithan looked just as concerned. “That still doesn’t explain why Gareck isn’t here.”

  “Wayd,” Gauden said. “The caravan scouts were with Jesop. But as we got closer to the city…” Gauden trailed off. He looked sick. “If Gareck was out there too…”

  “What?” Wayd encouraged.

  “We found them, Wayd. Well, not all of them,” Owen began, and he visibly shuddered. “But we found a handful of them. Or at least what was left of them. They were all killed.”

  “Killed?” Wayd repeated carefully, a ripple of fear tingling through him.

  “Ripped to pieces,” Owen answered. “Bloody ripped to pieces. We couldn’t even identify who was who, there was so little remaining!”

  Wayd swallowed hard. He thought of the scouts that were out there. Markus, Grindal, Jonson, Quith. They are dead?

  “And then to see poor Jesop,” Owen continued. “Wayd, Jesop must have been caught. Caught by whatever we were avoiding.”

  “Caught by what?” Malithan encouraged.

  Owen shook his head. “We had been following Jesop for several hours when we ran into the first dead scout. And from that point on, every switchback led to another dead scout.”

  “We were confused at first,” Gauden continued. “But then we began to realize what Jesop was doing. He was having us travel on paths that the enemy had already thought secured. He was leading us amongst our dead to hide from the enemy!”

  “And about an hour before we arrived, Jesop disappeared,” Owen continued after taking a deep breath. “The trail just ended. We would have been lost except Gauden recognized where we were and led the way back. But the fact that Jesop made it back here before us…it just doesn’t make sense. He wouldn’t have stopped giving us directions. Something happened to him. Something must have captured him. Then released him!”

  “And from the looks of what happened,” Gauden said as he shook his head in disbelief, “someone gave him dragonlyst.”

  “Did you see who it was?” Malithan asked.

  Wayd wondered the same thing, but deep down he already knew, as much as he hated to admit it. As he looked across the faces of each of his friends on the tower, he knew they were all thinking the same thing.

  Owen opened his mouth to answer but shut it when there was sudden commotion. Seeker Kalaia and Templar Arthron appeared at the top of the stairs with Seeker Bonnie and Templar Annette just behind. All of them looked concerned.

  “Wayd! Dragons are approaching! Dozens of them!” Seeker Kalaia yelled as she reached them, pointing above.

  Wayd’s trepidation redirected as he forced himself to look to the s
ky where Kalaia was pointing. Dragons? Dear Creator…

  “Where are they?” Malithan asked as he looked at the sky. “And what are they doing together? It’s unusual, isn’t it?”

  “Unheard of,” Templar Arthron answered. “And they are all around us. As soon as I think I’ve locked in on one, another two or three appear near the first. There may be twenty or thirty dragons, it’s too hard to keep track!” he said as he unsheathed his draestl sword.

  “I can’t keep track of them either!” Templar Annette exclaimed. “They are everywhere. One minute I think they are above me, the next they are behind me!”

  “Look!” Owen exclaimed as he pointed north. At first Wayd looked to the sky but glanced down when he saw what Owen was pointing at—something on the ground, at the edge of the trees, just barely entering the open grasslands. Wayd had to adjust his eyes from the glare of the morning sun, but then clearly saw it. A lone figure was approaching nonchalantly, confidently, and boldly.

  That’s odd. There was something about him. Something that reminded him of someone he had met before.

  “Is it one of our scouts returning?” Malithan asked. Wayd noticed Malithan’s sword was drawn. Everyone was on edge.

  Wayd tried to identify the newcomer, but couldn’t make it out. The figure was still too far away. But he dismissed the idea of it being a scout. There was a lack of urgency.

  It’s someone else.

  He put a hand over his eyes to try to provide some shade, and as he did, he began recognizing what was drawing his attention as the figure drew closer.

  A knot of fear formed in his stomach. The figure was short—too short to be a human. Sunlight reflected off pitch-black armor. Draestl armor. A brilliant red cape fluttered in the wind. A red claw with a thorn etched into it.

  But what made Wayd recognize him was the axe. The large twin-bladed black axe that had nearly taken his life a year prior.

  “It’s him,” Wayd muttered. He was surprised his voice worked. He felt sick.

  Malithan shielded his eyes from the glare of the morning sun as he tried to make out what Wayd had seen. “Dear Creator,” he said a moment later as his face contorted with fear and rage. “It’s Thraegar Thornclaw!”

  The declaration of who was approaching permeated fear. Wayd hated that a shudder ran through him. But it did. He stared, paralyzed, as the figure approached, stopping just outside of their archers’ range.

  “Waydsyn Scot!” the figure screamed. He was about a hundred feet away, but the force of his voice was overwhelming and instantly recognized. Wayd had to catch himself as his knees buckled with fright. It was as if a nightmare he had finally conquered suddenly reared its ugly, overpowering head once more.

  “Waydsyn Scot! I know you are there. Answer me!” the figure shouted again.

  Wayd’s heart thumped. Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Each beat pounded louder in his ears and instead of calming him as before, it numbed his senses. His hand rested on his own sword—a draestl sword Templar Arthron had given him—and he drew it as calmly as he could, though his hands were shaking so bad, he was afraid he’d drop it.

  A hand rested on his shoulder, and he turned to see Gauden Thyme smiling in an attempt to calm him. “We escaped him last time!”

  Luck allowed us to escape last time.

  “I still feel dragons,” Templar Arthron whispered urgently. “It’s as if they are multiplying! Malithan, we must ignite the signal fires. We must alert Draestl!”

  Malithan stood transfixed. His face was stricken with pain, and Wayd understood why. Malithan was replaying the night his wife was killed. He had shared the details with Wayd—in precise and painstakingly clear detail—and Wayd could see the emotion cascading through Malithan’s body. He extended a hand to Malithan and the human touch shook him from his thoughts.

  Malithan looked at Wayd, and then to Templar Arthron. “Yes, of course,” he said as he turned toward the signal fire. All of the remaining captains and their lieutenants were standing, alert but uneasy, waiting for their next command.

  The one closest to the signal fire was Lieutenant Timoth Hrath of the Draestl Dragons. Malithan looked at him and gestured toward the signal fire. “Subtly,” Malithan whispered as he gave the command.

  Wayd watched as Timoth took a step toward the signal fire. Located at the center of each tower of Old Draestl’s outer wall was a single bonfire filled with illusionist kindle that had the potential to light a fire bright enough that Draestl could see it even from this distance. It was one of the primary forms of their defense.

  Wayd prayed it worked. They practiced this process weekly, so he knew they knew how to do it, but he hoped that they could execute while under pressure.

  Timoth walked calmly to the beacon and carefully reached down to the flint, steel, and unlit torch near it. All it required was a strike.

  Wayd found himself holding his breath, and he glanced back at Thraegar Thornclaw. The dwarf stopped several dozen feet from the wall. Wayd could see him clearly now, and Thraegar’s face was etched with emotion as clearly as Malithan’s. But instead of being filled with pain, Thraegar’s face looked filled with rage. And purpose.

  “Waydsyn Scot! I know you are in there! Answer me!” Thraegar yelled in anger.

  Wayd ignored him, instead watching as Timoth struck flint against steel. A small spark, but the torch didn’t ignite.

  Hurry! Ignite that fire!

  “Waydsyn Scot!” Thraegar screamed again.

  “Would someone bloody answer him?” Owen exclaimed. “It’s bloody Thraegar Thornclaw? He’s already mad! Do you want him irate?”

  Wayd watched as Timoth struggled with another strike. “We need to keep Thraegar talking so we can buy Timoth the time he needs to ignite the fire,” Wayd said. We have to ignite that fire.

  Malithan nodded his head. “I’ll handle it. You,” he said as he pointed fiercely at Wayd. “Stay out of sight.” Then Malithan took a deep breath and stepped forward into Thraegar’s view.

  “Thraegar Thornclaw, we recognize you and call on you to speak your business,” he said in a steady voice. Wayd could see the fear etched across Malithan’s face, and more than one bead of sweat trickled down his forehead. But he stood as stoically as he could manage considering the circumstances. Malithan had recounted his wife’s heroic command just before her death, and Wayd assumed Malithan was thinking of that in this moment. I just hope this one ends better.

  “Malithan Hangdor? Is that you?” Thraegar scoffed in disbelief. “You haven’t run all the way to Alderidon with the tales of your wife?”

  Malithan stiffened. After a brief moment, he took a deep breath and spoke again. “It is I. And we are prepared for you, Thraegar. You wanted me to warn the world, but I did more than warn. We’ve been preparing every waking moment to be ready for you. And ready we are.”

  It was a striking speech, and Wayd was proud to see the vigor in the way Malithan delivered it.

  Thraegar Thornclaw laughed. “Prepared? How did your preparations help you when we last met? By the way, I’ve been wondering about your wife. How is she?”

  Malithan looked like he was about to be sick.

  “But enough about the past,” Thraegar continued derisively. “I want my question answered. Waydsyn! Appear now. I don’t want to kill these people, but I will. Respond!” Thraegar yelled.

  Wayd looked to Malithan. The captain’s eyes were distant, locked in a memory he had unsuccessfully tried to bury. Wayd looked at Owen, who was shaking his head in dismay. He looked at Gauden, who rubbed his hand alongside his staff and crossbow. They locked eyes, and Gauden glanced toward Thraegar.

  “Talk to him. He’s growing impatient, and when he’s impatient…” Gauden whispered softly, not needing to finish the sentence.

  Wayd knew he had to do something. He had to act. He took a deep breath, moved to the edge of the battlement, and yelled, “I am here! What do you want?”

  Thraegar Thornclaw stopped his advance and let out a loud, booming laugh. “You
are here,” he said after a moment.

  “Yes,” Wayd responded. He was surprised his voice wasn’t shaking. “I repeat, what do you want?”

  “I told you I would come, didn’t I, Waydsyn Scot?” Thraegar answered. His voice calm, yet powerful. “Do you remember why?”

  Wayd felt chills go down his spine. He knew exactly why. Knew exactly the role that he would play. “Yes,” was all he managed to answer.

  “Yes? That’s all you have to say to an old friend?” Thraegar mocked.

  Wayd looked over to Timoth, shocked that the fire hadn’t been struck yet. He saw that Timoth had a new flint and steel out. Curse our luck!

  “Answer me!” Thraegar screamed in anger.

  Wayd snapped his attention back to Thraegar and tried to remember what he had asked, and as each memory returned, he shuddered. “Yes, I remember,” he said.

  “Tell me,” Thraegar said.

  Wayd hated himself for responding. He tried to avoid the memory from surfacing, but he had battled it every day for the past year and it surfaced too easily. “To unite the Draebek. To return and come for me. To take over Ardonor.”

  Thraegar laughed viciously. “Precisely! And you haven’t been the only one preparing,” the dwarf said as he gestured at Old Draestl derisively. “I have united the Draebek. And we are here to take back what is ours. To take back the world.”

  Fearful mutters sounded around the tower.

  “But I have always been fair. Isn’t that right, Malithan?” Thraegar asked in a mocking tone. “I have a proposition. Come to me, Wayd. Alone. If you turn yourself in, I will spare Old Draestl and Draestl beyond. Turn yourself in, and no one needs to die today.”

  “Seems fairly straightforward,” Owen said sarcastically.

  Wayd glared at him.

  “And if I don’t?” Wayd asked.

  “Then I will massacre any who stands in my way: Old Draestl, Draestl, all of Zahkaria. And then I will march to Alderidon and kill every person I see. Except you, Wayd. I will capture you, and make you watch every person you love killed before your helpless eyes. It will be your fault. Because this could have all been avoided. I want to rule Ardonor, not massacre it. But I will do what it takes to get back what is rightfully ours.”