Siege of Draestl

by Randall Seeley

  Wayd swallowed hard.

  He glanced back at Timoth and felt hope fill him as the torch ignited. Timoth stepped forward and extended his hand toward the beacon.

  “Stop!” Thraegar screamed.

  The scream echoed through Old Draestl, and everyone found themselves paralyzed. Including Timoth.

  Wayd beckoned for Timoth to finish his task, but Timoth wouldn’t budge. Everyone was frozen.

  “I see you think to alert Draestl,” Thraegar said more calmly. “Wise in knowing that they should be warned. Foolish to think that you could.”

  Then Thraegar raised his hand.

  High above, a fog began to appear. It spread across the sky like a thick blanket, covering every inch of space above them. It formed and grew thicker with each second, spreading across the entire outer wall.

  Men around him muttered in disbelief. “What is that?”

  “It’s magic! Draebek magic!”

  “They control the weather!”

  “It’s smoke!”

  Wayd didn’t know what it was. All he knew was that it covered the sky directly over the towers—but nowhere else. The sky beyond Thraegar was still clear.

  “The fire!” Timoth suddenly exclaimed.

  They looked at him and saw that the torch was doused. Timoth looked worriedly around as he grabbed the flint and steel and began striking it vigorously.

  “Keep trying, Timoth! We have to alert Draestl!” Malithan yelled. Then he turned to the other leaders as signals were passed across the towers. “Aim the ballistae. Do it subtly, but be ready to strike on my command,” Malithan commanded. Then he turned toward Wayd. “Prepare the Wolves, on my command we strike. We will unleash ballistae on him. Have the Wolves ready to intercept any ground assault.”

  “Yes, sir,” Wayd said. He turned to Gauden and Owen and they both nodded that they had heard the command. He smiled in an attempt to reassure them, but he knew it was more to settle his own emotions than anything else. He looked back at Thraegar, who hadn’t shifted.

  The Draebek’s hand was still raised, open handed, high into the air. Then he clenched it into a fist. As soon as he did, the fog stopped growing.

  Wayd figured the fist was a signal and looked around anxiously for any signs of what was to come. But nothing happened. He glanced over at Timoth. Timoth continued to struggle to light the torch. It was as if something was preventing it from igniting. The fog.

  He looked up at the fog and realized that it was actually descending toward them. It was only a few feet above them.

  A sudden flash ignited from the side and Wayd looked back at Timoth. The torch was ignited. Timoth moved toward the signal fire. It was only a few inches away.

  “Dear Creator, that’s not fog,” Gauden whispered harshly as he realized what it was.

  The scent of the fog hit Wayd and gasped. Sulfur.

  “It’s smoke,” Malithan finished with disbelief. “Quickly—ignite the fire! Ignite the fire!” he screamed at Timoth.

  Thraegar suddenly called out and everyone froze in place. The Draebek’s voice was calm, yet powerful. “You will not alert Draestl,” he said. Then he lowered his hand.

  Suddenly an arrow shot from the fog and hit Timoth in the chest. He dropped the torch and stammered backward. Other men ran to him. One tried to pick up the torch, but another arrow fired. Then another. Each man near Timoth was struck by arrows and they fell, clutching at arrows that protruded from their bodies.

  Wayd couldn’t believe what had happened. There were half a dozen men writhing on the ground. He was afraid to look up at the smoke, afraid that another arrow would come for him.

  Then Timoth and the others screamed. The horror in their screams was piercing, and they began thrashing violently.

  “What is happening?” Owen asked as everyone gathered around the victims writhing on the ground. “The arrows aren’t killing them, just torturing them?”

  “What kind of sorcery is this?” Gauden exclaimed.

  Timoth tried to climb back to his feet, but he doubled over and roared out in pain. Then he fell to his knees, his hands on the ground, and Wayd watched in horror as scales erupted from his skin. His head reared back and then a dragon head emerged from his armor and grew until the armor snapped and fell to the ground beside him. A raging roar blasted from the dragon’s maw as it moved in its new form.

  Templar Arthron and Templar Annette appeared, their swords flashing. Timoth’s body hadn’t even completely transformed when his head was lopped free. Then they moved to the others who were struck, attacking them at the same time. In a moment, there were half a dozen headless bodies.

  Wayd stared in shock. One moment he thought Timoth was going to warn Draestl and the next he had partially transformed into a dragon. He looked at the nearby towers, hoping that the commotion had allowed someone else enough time to light their signal fires, but they were in just as much disarray.

  “What is happening?” Owen repeated in disbelief.

  “Dragonlyst,” Seeker Kalaia said distastefully as she regarded the corpses on the tower.

  Others on the nearby towers began transforming.

  “Arthron, do something!” Wayd begged. But the Templar stood still.

  “I can’t,” Templar Arthron said. “I feel them in front of us too. Above us. They are all around.”

  “But if we can’t stop those transformations—” Owen began.

  “They will bloodlust and destroy all in their path,” Malithan said. Sudden understanding filled him. “He’s going to turn us into an army of dragons. No,” he stated as he shook his head. “No he won’t.”

  Malithan turned toward the men that stood at attention. “Men and women. Prepare yourselves! Wear armor and protect yourselves from the smoke of sorcery. Arrows are laced with dragonlyst. If you are hit, you will be turned. Understood?!”

  They moved into action.

  Wayd turned back toward Thraegar, but he was no longer there. “Thraegar,” he said softly. “Where did he go?”

  Malithan turned back around and cursed. “It doesn’t matter, we know they are here. Men,” he yelled, getting everyone’s attention. “Be on guard, and be prepared to attack! Fire at will!”

  They turned back to the front, and heard a low beat sound in the distance. The smoke was too thick to see very far into the distance, but Wayd didn’t have to see to know what it was. Drum beats. Drum beats from an approaching army.

  They are coming.

  Then the smoke began to swirl.

  He looked up, and out of the sky before him a figure appeared. It was massive, wings spread wide, scales glistening in the sunlight. Its red head was covered in silver armor.

  A dragon.

  Dozens of dragons. Everywhere. Facing each tower.

  “Attack! Fire the ballistae! Fire the ballistae!” Malithan screamed.

  But the dragons roared. It happened as if it was in slow motion. The dragons’ maws opened in unison, filled with a brilliant orange glow, and then blasted.

  Wayd barely had time to flinch before the hot flames slammed into the tower and he felt himself spiraling to his death.

  4

  A Hopeful Plan

  Some people confuse hope with naivety. Those people are fools. Naivety is not accepting reality. But to have hope? Hope is to believe that no matter your circumstances, that you can turn it to your own good. I believe there is a distinct difference between hope and naivety. A person filled with hope will never say they can’t and will work at something until they succeed. I will always fight alongside the hopeful.

  A surge of pain cascaded through Wayd’s body. His head rang, his vision blurred, and he struggled to move. He realized he didn’t know where he was, and tried to regain his bearings. There was smoke in the air, stone rubble all around, and movement to all sides. He eventually realized he was lying on the ground. But it wasn’t the floor of the parapet. It was the cobblestone of the streets. How did I end up all the way down—

  His mouth dropped as he lo
oked back to the tower. It was gone, and in its place was a smoldering ruin.

  He tried standing up, but dizziness washed over him and he barely maintained his consciousness. I must have hit my head.

  He looked around to try to settle his mind and gasped.

  Seeker Bonnie was a few feet away, lying eerily still amongst rubble. He started to reach out toward her but recoiled his hand when he saw that half her body was missing, the rest still smoldering from the fire that had caused it. Templar Annette lay just as still beside her. Her neck was twisted unnaturally. Both stared at nothing. Dead.

  The shock at seeing them jolted Wayd into his senses and he looked around, trying to figure out what had happened. Memories came back to him of Thraegar Thornclaw arriving. Commanding Wayd to surrender. Promising him that he would spare their lives, or kill everyone if he didn’t. He looked at Seeker Bonnie’s body and shuddered. It’s my fault.

  Then he remembered the dragons. He looked above, his heart pounding with fear, and he unconsciously brought his arms above his head in a futile attempt to protect himself from the deadly beasts. He saw them flying swiftly back and forth, blasting fire at any soldier or ballista that moved along the battlements. Soldiers screamed as they were engulfed in death.

  Then screams sounded before him.

  He looked ahead, surprised the noise was coming from the ground instead of the sky, but his curiosity ended as he saw what was approaching.

  Hundreds of Draebek ran through the destroyed walls and into the defenders beyond. The few ballistae that remained fired into their midst and Draebek fell from the impact, but they were quickly replaced with others and the sea of enemies pushed forward, smothering anything in their path.

  Dear Creator, there are so many of them!

  A blast from the side crashed into the wall beside him and he had to duck away. He looked up and saw dozens of dragons approaching, and atop their backs were black-clad riders in draestl armor. Wayd knew who was at their head even before he saw the red claw with a thorn in it.

  “Thraegar,” he said. A knot formed in his stomach as he forced himself to his feet.

  As if it was a beckon, one dragon turned away from the rest and headed toward him. Wayd reached for his sword, only to realize it wasn’t there. He looked around quickly, but it was nowhere to be found. He felt vertigo wash over him and he tried to balance himself. I have to act quickly. I have to—

  “Wayd!” someone yelled from his side.

  Wayd turned and felt relief when he saw Gauden and Malithan. They both had their weapons drawn and rushed toward him. Malithan held a slender sword and Wayd noticed how he limped gingerly on his left side. Gauden marched forward as if nothing had fazed him. He held his massive crossbow, and his quarterstaff was tucked behind his back. A bolt was loaded, and he scanned the skies warily.

  “Watch out!” another shout sounded, and then Owen was there, pushing him hard to the side.

  The impact knocked Wayd from his feet and he crashed to the ground at the same moment that a wave of heat rushed over him. A loud explosion erupted as a fire bolt blasted into the ground where he was standing just a moment before. Owen pulled himself up and reached out a hand to Wayd and helped pull him to his feet.

  Wayd looked up at the dragon as it flew past and locked eyes with its rider. Thraegar Thornclaw. The dwarf raised his thick axe into the air and screamed a raging taunt. “Waydsyn Scot! You’re mine!”

  Wayd wanted to run.

  Thraegar turned his dragon around to position for another strike. Wayd looked for any type of shelter, but the buildings closest to him were decimated. He felt frozen in place and unable to escape his predicament. He looked at Owen, who seemed resigned to their fate as well. The dragon flew closer, its mouth open wide and a blue glow emanating from within as mustered breath created fire that would incinerate them.

  Gauden stepped in front of them, his giant black crossbow held carefully in his hands. He screamed and began firing bolt after bolt.

  The first few bounced harmlessly off the dragon armor and thick scales, but eventually a bolt struck into exposed flesh and the dragon shrieked in pain. The dragon’s mouth snapped shut and the blue flame extinguished. Thraegar screamed in frustration as they veered away and began maneuvering for another pass.

  “We must get to shelter! There!” Malithan yelled as he pointed to the door of a building a few blocks down. It was one of the few buildings that didn’t seem to be on the verge of collapsing. He rushed forward through the rubble and the others followed.

  Wayd took a step carefully, worried that his disorientation would overtake him, but when his weight shifted and held, he rushed after them.

  He heard a loud crash and could feel the heat from another blast of fire. He looked behind him and saw Thraegar honing in for another pass. His dragon’s mouth was open and filled with blue fire.

  We’re not going to make it. We’re not going to—

  A ballista bolt suddenly shot from an adjacent building directly at Thraegar. Thraegar reared his dragon back, and the dragon reached out a giant claw and knocked the bolt to the side. Then it dove in the direction the ballista bolt came from.

  Screams sounded a moment later.

  “Quickly, Wayd,” Gauden yelled as he grabbed Wayd’s tunic to pull him into the building. Wayd allowed himself to get pulled inside, but lingered his gaze in the direction Thraegar had disappeared. A moment later, Thraegar reappeared, but the Draebek looked in all directions, obviously confused.

  “I think we lost him,” Wayd said as Malithan slammed the door shut behind him.

  The room was small, but surprisingly intact. It was a storage room used for restocking the outer walls and was filled with weapons, armor, and repair tools. He was relieved everything was still in order. It was as if this room was immune to the chaos that ensued outside. The only light came from narrow arrow slits in the wall, so even the noise of battle was muffled. The only unmistakable noise was the piercing screams of the dying.

  “Let’s take the time to patch up any wounds and gather our heads so we can get out of this mess!” Malithan said as he moved toward a set of bins that contained medical supplies.

  As the captain moved, it was the first time that Wayd actually regarded his friends. They were all wounded in some way. Gauden had a red streak down his face, matting his beard with coagulated blood. Malithan had a wounded leg that he dragged behind him. Owen’s shirt looked sodden with blood, and from the paleness of his face, Wayd wondered how bad it was.

  “Seeker Bonnie and Templar Annette,” Wayd began as he locked eyes with Owen.

  Owen cut him off. “I know. They took a fire bolt directly. I think it was meant for you,” Owen said flatly. “You three were standing there, and then you weren’t. I watched Bonnie get ripped in half as the fire bolt hit her directly. Annette was knocked from the wall.” He shuddered. “And then you disappeared as the force of the blast knocked the tower out from under you.”

  “You’re lucky you’re alive,” Gauden said. “You fell two dozen feet! The others that fell with you weren’t so lucky. Templar Annette broke her neck from the fall. A dozen or more soldiers as well…”

  “Still, you’re hurt,” Malithan said as he beckoned Wayd over. Wayd raised an eyebrow. He was sore, but he wouldn’t call himself hurt. When he didn’t move, Malithan gestured toward his head. “You have a nasty gash on your head that needs tending.”

  Wayd instinctively touched his head. The spot was tender, and something hard was in it. As he took his hand away, it was covered in blood. He realized that the pounding in his head wasn’t from anxiousness of battle, but because he was injured.

  “There’s a bloody piece of stone in your head, Wayd, hurry up and move over to Malithan so he can get it out,” Owen said.

  “You look like you need help too,” Wayd observed as he walked toward Malithan.

  “I’ll get patched up next,” Owen said.

  “We need to hurry, but I fear if we don’t take the time to tend ou
r wounds that we’ll be a liability instead of any help,” Malithan said as Wayd sat down.

  As Malithan began his work, Wayd thought of the others that were on the tower that weren’t with them.

  “Templar Arthron and Seeker Kalaia?” Wayd asked fearfully, grunting when Malithan pulled the piece of stone out of his head. His head screamed in pain and he felt a rush of nausea sweep over him, but it passed a moment later as Malithan began cleaning the wound. It allowed his thoughts to return to the question he had asked. Where are Templar Arthron and Seeker Kalaia? They were on the tower with them. Are they alive?

  “They’re alive, at least they were a few moments ago—I saw them rushing off,” Owen said. “Not very many of the Templars and Seekers are, though. The dragons were focusing on them. Arthron said he was going to go help them and that he would be right back. Obviously they aren’t yet.”

  Wayd shook his head in disbelief. The attack was as good as an ambush!

  “Malithan, what about Lieutenant Gregor?” Wayd asked. Gregor was Malithan’s second lieutenant. They already knew what had happened to Timoth.

  “He’s alive,” Malithan answered. “He’s leading the counterattack until I return. Most of the Draestl Dragons are on the walls trying to buy us time to get the citizens to the castle and for our forces to regroup. But he won’t be able to hold for long. I don’t think we have enough time. I think we need to retreat to Draestl!”

  Retreat. Wayd couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He had spent the last year in Old Draestl and had thought that it was formidable enough that it would help prevent any direct battle with Draestl. But Thraegar had easily overcome them in a matter of minutes. He shuddered.

  Malithan finished patching him and turned toward Owen, who swayed uneasily. They helped Owen take off his armor and shirt beneath, and it revealed a nasty cut along the side of his body. He saw Wayd looking at him and smiled. “We ran into some Draebek while we were looking for you. The dragons didn’t just come with fire. Several of the big ones are carrying Draebek on their backs! They dropped them over the wall and we met them.”