Siege of Draestl

by Randall Seeley

  “But how do we keep the western army from following after us?” Gauden asked. “I get how the distraction will cause most of the Draebek to follow after Wayd, but what if there is a good amount left? Thraegar’s army is large. He has at least a couple clans, if not all of them. We are vastly outnumbered.”

  “That’s the one part I can’t figure out,” Owen said. “We need some of our men to stay and fight. It’s almost as if we have a suicide squad that stays to fight while the bulk of our men double back to safety. I’ve been trying to think of other solutions, but a suicide squad is the only way I can think of it working.”

  “The Dragons,” Malithan said.

  “Dragons will be a problem too,” Owen said. “But they will be a force we need to reckon with regardless of which side we’re on.”

  “Not the creatures, the Draestl Dragons,” Malithan said. “I will take what remains and we will fight long enough for the Wolves to survive.”

  Wayd started to object, but Malithan raised a hand. “Hear me out. We are the more seasoned fighters, and as such it will be much easier for us to hold our ground. This will work.”

  “No,” Wayd said as he thought of Malithan. Malithan had become his mentor and friend. They had shared so much similar loss to each other. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing him. Thoughts of Jacon Strath resurfaced, and he felt his emotions building. “No,” he said again. “There has to be some other way.”

  “There isn’t,” Malithan declared. “Owen’s right, there has to be a suicide squad. If we stop fighting, the western force will redirect their forces. We need to stand strong, and long enough for the Wolves and everyone else to escape.”

  “It’s risky,” Owen stated again. “But I do think it will work.”

  Wayd couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Though deep down he knew it was the best plan they could execute.

  “How do we actually execute it?” Gauden asked.

  Owen nodded. “I’ve thought of that too. Gauden—you, Wayd, I assume Templar Arthron and Seeker Kalaia will insist on going, and a handful of others will form the group to head east. Gauden, you need to accompany them because you know the caves better than any and can lead them through.”

  Gauden nodded his agreement.

  “What about you?” Wayd asked.

  “Malithan and I will gather the rest,” Owen stated. “I’ll lead the Wolves—Wayd, shut your mouth, I can’t come with you, though I appreciate the gesture. Besides, I think being with the Wolves will be less risky. So, like I said, I’ll lead the Wolves, and make sure that Thraegar sees us. That way we can be the first distraction. The one piece I can’t figure out is how we communicate to one another when the timing is right. We’ll have to let Wayd’s group know when the majority of forces have gathered so he can begin his sprint.”

  “The towers of the castle,” Malithan said. “We’ll need a third group there. They will direct the distractions, and also the retreat. We’ll need a Templar and Seeker with them to protect against any dragons, but from there we can send signals.”

  “It should be you, Malithan,” Wayd suggested.

  “We’ve been over this,” Malithan countered. “I’m going to be with the Dragons.”

  “But we need you in the tower,” Wayd argued. “That position will be directing the entire battle. If we have anyone but you, we run a higher risk of failure. If we move too soon, this plan will backfire and will end in slaughter. It has to be someone that has the experience and vision to direct us at the right time, especially if we have to pivot the plan.”

  Malithan opened his mouth to argue, then shut it. “Then we’ll need someone to lead the Dragons.” Then he shook his head. “No, I won’t order Gregor to his death. I won’t do it.”

  “Malithan,” Wayd said. “You told me yourself. A true leader values the lives of many over the lives of a few, and must act accordingly.”

  “Don’t quote me to prove your point, Wayd,” Malithan said. “Gregor is my friend.”

  “And friends will die,” Wayd said. “Another thing you’ve told me.”

  Malithan glared at him, but the glare was softened as he agreed with the logic.

  “Promise me, Malithan,” Wayd said. “If we agree to this plan, it has to be you on the tower.”

  “I won’t promise, but your logic makes sense,” Malithan said. He shook his head. “This is why I wanted to be a professor. I would have never been in a position to send my friends to their deaths. I’m going to give Gregor the choice, though I know what kind of man he is…” He trailed off for a moment and took a deep breath. Then he turned back to Owen. “Owen Delmsmith,” he said with a proud nod, “I’m impressed with your well-thought out plan. I think it might work.”

  “It better,” Owen said. “Then it’s time?”

  “It’s time,” Malithan said. “Gather your things, and let’s be on our way. We’ll need to fight our way to the castle, and once we are there, we’ll relay the plan to everyone else. Any last questions?”

  There were none, so everyone in the room moved toward execution.

  Wayd remembered he had lost his sword, so he went to the wall and inspected those. Most were normal swords, but there was one section that was cornered off from the others. He recognized the metal instantly as draestl. He made his way over to them, and picked one.

  He had always assumed that draestl was a heavy metal. It looked dense, and the blackness of the blades gave the appearance of never-ending darkness. But when he picked it up he was once again astonished at how light it was. They were always perfectly balanced.

  “Going to be a Templar?” Owen asked with a smile.

  Wayd nodded, then quickly shook his head. “Yes to the fact I’m using their weapon, no to being a Templar,” though he couldn’t help but think of Alaina in that moment. That’s what she is going to become. Perhaps it’s my only way to win her back. He felt Owen staring at him and looked at his friend, only to see Owen with an eyebrow raised.

  “Thinking of Alaina? Seriously? At this moment?” Owen whispered.

  Wayd was grateful that Owen had the presence to whisper, but he was also annoyed that his friend knew him so well.

  “This sword will do,” he said, and he undid his old sword scabbard and put on the new one. It will have to do.

  Then he looked at Owen. “I’m proud of you,” Wayd said. “This plan, it’s brilliant. You’ve come so—”

  Owen laughed. “Ahh, shucks,” he said dramatically to cut him off. “But seriously, stop it. Having a man flatter me is strange, though not unexpected. What’s unexpected is that you’re doing it. So…just…stop,” he said with a smile. Then he walked forward and embraced Wayd. “Be safe, Wayd.”

  “You too,” Wayd replied.

  “Are we ready?” Malithan asked. Everyone gave eager nods. “Then we move.”

  He opened the door carefully and stepped back, waiting to see if anyone—or anything—passed. It was eerily quiet.

  Together, with weapons drawn, they stepped out of their shelter and back into the battle.

  5

  The Tip Of An Arrow

  What if you could weaponize dralchoms? Imagine the power they would possess. A sword that could slice through armor and scales. A staff infused with dragonsbane. What about an arrow and dragonlyst? Can you imagine what could happen? We must control dralchoms at all cost.

  As they stepped out of the building, Wayd was shocked at how much the situation had deteriorated. A thick blanket of smoke filled the air and dimmed the light from the sun. The smell of destruction and burnt flesh was overpowering. Every few moments explosions sounded and the entire fortification shook as pieces crumbled away. Old Draestl is collapsing!

  But what bothered him most were the bodies. They were littered everywhere. Men, women, and even a few children lay in their final resting places. There were Draebek as well, but so many more humans. A shiver ran down his spine and doubts began to fester. There were too many Draebek to succeed. The protective walls were destroyed.
The Draebek would overrun them before they reached the castle.

  Doubts filled his mind until he felt dizziness begin to wash over him. He hesitated and rested a hand on the doorframe to steady himself. But he knew that was only one reason. He was afraid to step outside. Afraid to leave the safety of the building. Afraid to continue forward.

  Malithan turned back to see why he had stopped, and as they locked eyes, Malithan’s features softened. He reached out a hand and rested it on Wayd’s armor. The touch helped break Wayd from his trance. He shook his head, took a deep breath, and stepped forward.

  “Quietly,” Malithan instructed as they carefully moved forward. Wayd tried to avoid the debris, but it was everywhere, and as his weight settled, the debris crunched loudly. They all winced. Gauden loaded a bolt into his crossbow and his eyes scanned their surroundings.

  “Let’s move,” Malithan said as he gestured for them to follow. “Silence until we reach the castle.”

  As they began to navigate through the broken streets, Wayd realized that his initial assessment of the destruction was too conservative. Several buildings were completely flattened, and many of the roadways were blocked, forcing them to head down different streets. Everything looked as if it was on the verge of collapse. Wayd also couldn’t avoid staring at the bodies that were strewn everywhere. He knew some of them. Most of them. Keep focus. Keep walking forward.

  A sound ahead forced them to stop. Something was coming.

  Malithan gestured to shadows from a nearby building’s rubble that would block them from the view of anything approaching, and they quickly moved toward it.

  Wayd’s heart pounded. He knew that when he stepped out of their building that he was stepping back into battle, but running and hiding was something he wasn’t expecting. The battle of Gaud’s Pass had happened so quickly he didn’t have much time to think, but this seemed like they were being hunted down and executed one at a time.

  The sound intensified as whatever approached grew closer. They had a clear view of where the sound was coming from, and though Wayd knew they were obscured from the view of whatever was approaching, he still felt like they were out in the open.

  As the noise strengthened, Wayd’s mind began to play tricks. He thought he heard the heavy clank of Draebek armor. He tried to calm himself, but anxiousness filled him. He looked down at his black draestl sword and focused his attention on it. The shiny black blade could cut through dragons. It could cut through anything.

  The thought made him think back to his life when his only concern was how to make Alaina happy. He had known of dragons, Draebek, and battles—but they were only mythical stories back then.

  Now it was all so real.

  Wayd began to doubt the entire plan, but took a deep breath and focused back on the blade. Focus. This will work. This will—

  He cut off as a figure appeared. The figure stammered forward, its body swaying back and forth in an odd manner. Wayd held his breath as his imagination conjured up fears, but his emotions settled when he saw the figure was a human.

  “It’s Jilthrin,” Gauden exclaimed as he stepped out of the shadows.

  Wayd recognized him. Jilthrin was a scout from the Draestl Dragons who Gauden and Owen frequently played cards with. But Jilthrin’s face was where the recognition ended. There was something odd about the way Jilthrin was carrying himself. He struggled walking and at random intervals doubled over and grunted in pain.

  Selfishly, Wayd wished Jilthrin would be quieter—Draebek might hear!—but then he regretted it. Jilthrin was obviously hurt and needed help.

  Gauden had taken several steps out of the shadows when Jilthrin fell to the ground on his hands and knees, raised his head into the air, and screamed in maniacal rage.

  The scream pierced through Wayd’s core. All four of them froze, unsure of what to do as Jilthrin continued to scream.

  That’s when Wayd noticed it—a single arrow sticking out of Jilthrin’s left shoulder plate.

  His breath caught.

  “The arrow,” he whispered. “Dragonlyst!”

  As if saying dragonlyst was a command to commence, Jilthrin’s arm buckled and bent in an unnatural way. Jilthrin screamed out in pain as scales began to unfold from under the skin of his arm and then cascade outward as if they were climbing his body. He watched his arm in fascinated horror until his gauntlet exploded and purple scales erupted in its place. His arm was gone in a moment, replaced by the claw of a dragon. Then his other arm began to violently shake as it, too, began to transform. Jilthrin screamed as he fell to the ground and then he rolled to his back. There was a short reprieve before his body contorted. His abdomen thrust into the air as the armor from his legs fell carelessly to the side as dragon legs erupted from underneath them. His torso followed next, his plate mail snapping free as a giant dragon emerged from within. A long, spiked tail unraveled from his back, coiling out to reveal a barbed end that looked as if it could crush buildings.

  Then the transformation stopped.

  Jilthrin lay still as a freshly transformed dragon.

  Wayd and the others froze in place. Gauden had one hand on his crossbow, the other still reaching out as if to help. He couldn’t move. None of them had ever seen a transforming dragon this close before today, and now they had witnessed several in the last few hours. Dear Creator. But whereas Jesop was a dragon of average size, Jilthrin was huge. Wayd recalled learning that a transformed dragon took on characteristics of the owner, so it made sense—Jilthrin rivaled the size of Gauden Thyme.

  Jilthrin rolled over and stood up on his new dragon arms and legs. Massive wings unrolled from off his back and he nearly filled the entire street. He looked slightly disoriented as he stumbled forward. It was unsettling seeing someone he had known completely transformed into a dragon. Wayd wanted to step back and flee, but he stood still, staring at Jilthrin in fear. That’s when he made eye contact with him. And it wasn’t eye contact with a dragon, but with Jilthrin’s human eyes. His head hadn’t transformed yet.

  Jilthrin looked from Wayd and then settled on Gauden. “Gauden,” Jilthrin exclaimed through a torn and tattered voice. “Owen,” he added. “Help me. Help—”

  Jilthrin cut off with a horrifying scream.

  “Dear Creator,” Malithan exclaimed.

  “Help him!” Owen pleaded.

  Wayd and Gauden stared, captivated with fear.

  “Ahhhhh!” Jilthrin screamed.

  Then his face ripped from within, and it expanded into a purple head covered with scales and thorns that extruded like piercing daggers.

  It was over in a matter of seconds, and the purple dragon turned to face them. Its golden eyes were mesmerizing, penetrating, and frightening. There wasn’t any sign of familiarity remaining. Jilthrin was gone.

  The dragon’s maw opened and filled with brilliant blue light. Even from this distance Wayd could feel the heat.

  Fire.

  Wayd knew he was going to die.

  Templar Arthron raised his sword to parry the brutal attack. A burly dwarf half his size but double his width swung an axe that seemed denser than a tree, and when the weapon crashed into his sword, Arthron felt his arms shake under the force of the blow. Exhaustion coursed through him, and he feared he would buckle under the pressure.

  But his training took over and he felt the Templar’s wine he had consumed flicker to life inside him. He raised his sword, deflected the blow, and then thrust forward, bringing his elbow into the dwarfs face. The dwarf stammered back, stunned, and his axe dropped to his side. Arthron brought his blade around and slashed. The dwarf’s head fell from his shoulders.

  Arthron turned toward the next fighter then stopped. A piercing feeling passed through him at the same time as a shrill shriek—a dragon transformation. And this one was powerful.

  He closed his eyes and focused his thoughts. As he did, he could see the dragon transforming. It was purple. It was screaming. He recognized it—Jilthrin. He had played cards with him. Jilthrin was a good man
, but at this moment he was completely consumed with Rahiad.

  Arthron opened his eyes and saw Seeker Kalaia looking at him.

  “You felt it too?” she asked as she spun her black staff to ward off an approaching Draebek.

  “And heard it,” he said softly. He closed his eyes and heard Jilthrin scream again. Then he panicked as he heard names that Jilthrin called out. Gauden. Owen.

  “Again?” Kalaia asked. “Do you know what causes it?”

  He shook his head. He knew why she asked—it was strange that he could sometimes hear and even see transformations. They kept it between themselves, because he had never heard of another Templar who experienced these emotions. But he could. It was almost like he was in their minds. Able to hear their thoughts, experience what they were feeling. It had happened more frequently of late whenever they came across a dragon with Rahiad.

  But now wasn’t the time to worry about his unnatural gift. He kept playing the names back in his mind. Owen. Gauden. “It’s Jilthrin. He’s with Owen and Gauden.”

  “Then we must go,” Seeker Kalaia said. She reached into her cloak and took out two vials. She unstopped one and drank the contents, then passed the other to Arthron. “Drink up. I know we are exhausting our supply of wine, but we need it.”

  Arthron swallowed his without arguing. As the purple liquid hit his lips, he felt energy course through him. The pain and fatigue in his muscles faded and were replaced with renewed strength. His attention was focused. His mind relaxed.

  “Let’s go,” Arthron stated. “Wayd must be with them. We can save them if we hurry.”

  The blast of fire came at them with incredible speed. The heat was so intense, it not only singed Wayd’s exposed hair, but the magnitude caused Wayd to stand still, mesmerized by its unworldly beauty.