Arthron gritted his teeth, and realized he was clenching the man’s cloak even tighter. “She may not have time,” he stated. His anger was building. It formed deep within, and he could almost pinpoint it within his abdomen. He innately looked at it and saw a swirling ball of rage. It was almost material. It looked as if it was fire. He knew that was crazy, but he felt like he was on fire. He wanted to be on fire. He wanted to explode.
“I am aware,” the doctor explained.
“Help her. Now!” Arthron screamed.
He looked around to try to find the doctor, but he was nowhere in sight. Puzzled at the change of events, Arthron’s anger subsided for a moment and he became more aware of his actions. He looked around the room, and realized that everyone was looking at him.
No, he realized. I’ve lost control. I’ve let my rage…
He looked down and saw the doctor on the ground, holding his hands above his head as he pleaded for Arthron to be reasonable.
His rage vanished momentarily as he realized that he hadn’t killed the doctor. This time. But his rage returned a moment later. Why hadn’t the man just helped him? Why hadn’t he done as he was told? It was his fault! His!
Arthron recognized that his anger was brewing again, so he stepped away. “Please, help her,” he said as he pointed at Kalaia.
He looked at her, and watched for signs of life. Her chest barely rose, then fell again. At least she’s alive.
The doctor stood up cautiously, regarding Arthron with suspicious eyes. “I will help her,” he said softly. “But you must go. Now.”
Arthron regarded the man, angered at the audacity the man had to tell him what to do. But he saw a look in the man’s eyes. Sincerity. He watched as the doctor looked at Kalaia and then back at Arthron. Arthron realized he was standing in the way. I need to leave.
“Very well,” he said through gritted teeth. Then he turned and left.
As he exited the inn, the sound of battle called to him. He felt his rage brimming with an opportunity to explode. He stopped trying to control it. He let it out, little by little. He felt it fill his body. It invigorated him. It enhanced his senses. It made him want to scream.
He closed his eyes and searched. For a dragon. For something he could kill.
He found it a moment later, and looked through its eyes. He saw Owen lying on the ground, unable to defend himself.
Arthron smiled. He began to run, picking up speed, channeling all of his hatred into his muscles to will them to go faster, to be stronger. He saw weapons as he ran, and he dipped down to pick them up. He would need them. For he knew what was about to happen.
He smiled as he let rage fill him. He let it empower him. Embolden him.
Time to die, dragons.
“Come to me,” Thraegar commanded.
Wayd felt like he had to obey, but he tried with all his might to resist. Despite his best efforts, he took a step forward.
“Like a child, obeying his parent,” Thraegar said with a laugh. Others in the room did as well.
Wayd knew they were laughing at him, but he couldn’t stop himself from taking another step forward. He hated himself for the way he was behaving. He wanted to fight. Wanted to stop. To resist. But he obeyed. And with each step he took, Thraegar’s laugh intensified. What am I to do?
He passed Gauden as he approached Thraegar, and the burly man looked like he was about to act. Wayd saw flashbacks to when Jacon Strath had died and he knew that the only reason Jacon had died was because Wayd had disobeyed and needed to be punished. The only reason he was dead was because of him.
Wayd knew what would happen if Gauden resisted, and he could tell that was exactly what Gauden was about to do. His face was rigid and focused. His eyes were filled with knowledge of what was going to happen once he mustered enough courage to act.
Wayd looked around the room and knew that if Gauden tried anything, it would void Grindhold law and Gauden would be struck down immediately.
He had to stop that from happening. But he didn’t know how.
The dream.
Wayd wasn’t sure if it was a voice in his head or a providential memory. He looked around and saw Korin and Shadmay staring at him intently. For a moment, Wayd was sure it was them. They were so focused on him that it was as if they were projecting their will onto him. But then he recognized the others in the room. All of them were staring at him. It’s just a coincidence, he thought. My hope is getting the better of me.
He took another step forward, unsure of what else to do. Gauden took a step as well, and Wayd tried to motion to his friend to stop. But Gauden didn’t stop. The way his jaw set, Wayd knew Gauden was going to try to attack.
I have to stop this!
He took another step forward, hating himself for his cowardice.
Quickly. The dream. Act before Gauden does!
This time there was no mistaking the voice in his head. He looked around, confused. How could there be a voice in his head? He looked at Shadmay and Korin. Korin looked just as concerned as before, but Shadmay appeared different. She was focusing on him. Staring right at him.
The dream.
He was certain it came from her. But how? Was it like the dreams? Did the Draebek Shaman have the ability to project thoughts into another’s mind?
“Hurry, foolish child. The battle won’t last long,” Thraegar said to another chorus of laughter.
Wayd took another step forward.
The dream! Enact it. It has to be you!
The memory of the dream came crashing back to Wayd, and he thought of every step. The Horn of Grind. Where is it?
It doesn’t matter where. Call on Thraegar to summon it. To prove that he fulfilled prophecy!
Wayd paused, unsure of what was going to happen, and began to doubt the voice in his head. Should he trust it? He was certain it was Shadmay, but should he trust her?
He looked at her, and saw her soft, innocent, and caring eyes look back at him. He didn’t have a choice. Either his entire army would be decimated, and Gauden killed, or he could act.
“Now,” Thraegar said. “Get over here now!”
It was time.
“No,” Wayd answered. And he stopped.
Thraegar had turned partly around, and spun back ferociously when Wayd spoke. His eyes were livid, and his hand went to the Thornclaw axe. It was unsheathed in a moment and held dangerously before him.
“What did you say, human?” Thraegar scowled. His words dripped with hatred and rage.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Wayd said. He was surprised that he was filled with courage after each word he spoke. He recognized that others in the room were growing unsettled. This was unexpected. No one argued with Thraegar. And when they did, they quickly met their demise.
“Say another word, and Grindhold law is lifted,” Thraegar warned.
The dream. The Horn of Grind.
Wayd nodded. “Before I follow you anywhere,” Wayd began. Thraegar stepped forward to follow through with his threat, but Wayd held his fist in front of him and Thraegar surprisingly stopped. “I need proof that you are actually the leader of the clans!”
Thraegar stopped, and for a fleeting moment Wayd saw doubt cross his eyes. It was only there for a second, but Wayd was certain he had seen it. Then Thraegar laughed. “Proof? There is proof enough. Look at what I’ve done!” he exclaimed as he gestured to the tent and the implied army around it.
But Wayd realized no one else was laughing. They all wanted proof. I hope this will work.
It will.
The voice in his head gave him courage. “Then you won’t have any problem proving it to us. Blow the Horn of Grind as the prophecy dictates,” Wayd demanded, just as he had in the dream.
Thraegar looked as if he was going to explode. He looked over at Korin and Shadmay then said something that Wayd could only assume was a Draebek curse.
“Can he do this? Can he demand?” Thraegar finally asked.
“He can’t,” Braethrin Bor said. “He’s
not a Draebek.”
Thraegar let out a sigh of relief.
“But as a fellow clan chief, I can,” Braethrin said. There was no mistaking the satisfaction in his face as Thraegar bristled. “Blow the Horn, Thraegar. We should have asked you to do it a long time ago. Blow it, and have the white dragon appear and win this war for us.”
There was a momentary pause. Thraegar looked toward Shadmay once more. Then his face tightened and he gritted his teeth.
“We don’t need the white dragon!” Thraegar yelled, incensed. He looked at Wayd, and Wayd stepped back in fright. He had seen Thraegar mad before, but he had always been stable. Now, there was insanity to him.
And Wayd suddenly understood why. Blowing the horn would result in Thraegar’s downfall. He hadn’t found the white dragon. Which meant he shouldn’t have united the Draebek.
“We have called on you to do so,” Delthezar declared as he stepped next to Braethrin. “Do it.”
Thraegar screamed. Then he looked at Wayd.
“I have a better idea. You have a cousin, right?” Thraegar asked.
Wayd felt tingles form across his body. He nodded slowly.
“And he is the true Prince of Ardonor?” Thraegar asked.
Wayd tried to force himself not to nod, but he did. He thought of his cousin, Thardyn Scot, the rightful heir to Ardonor.
“Then we don’t need you. I challenge you to a duel. If you defeat me, then I will blow the horn. If you don’t, then this matter is settled.”
Wayd looked to Shadmay, who looked troubled, and then to Korin. The old Draebek kept looking from Wayd, to Braethrin and Delthezar, and back to Thraegar.
Wayd wondered what he should do, but before he could, he saw Thraegar raise his axe above his head.
Suddenly there was a pull on his sword, and realization dawned on him. Thraegar was invoking the power of the Thornclaw axe.
They were going to fight.
Owen tried to scramble backward, but the Draebek had formed a circle around him. He was trapped, and the dragon paced around him, its ugly head rising and lowering as it looked for the opportunity to attack.
He looked around and hoped to find an opportunity to break through the Draebek, but there was nothing. He heard defenders calling for him, doing their best to break through, but it was all in vain. There were too many Draebek.
Owen consigned himself to die.
The dragon opened its mouth and filled it with fire, then began to charge.
He thought about raising his sword, but knew it was useless.
He closed his eyes and said a quick prayer that his death would be painless and that the story of his heroism would make it to all of the taverns of Ardonor. Then he waited.
Sudden screams sounded, and he scolded himself for going out this way. I could have at least died quietly!
But then he realized he wasn’t screaming. And he wasn’t in pain.
He thought about opening his eyes but shut them quickly, afraid that he had actually been incinerated and that he was now in heaven. He found himself strangely afraid of what heaven would be like. Will there be gambling? Girls?
The screams continued, and his curiosity overcame his fear. He opened his eyes.
And saw a figure striking death to all in his path. The figure wore all black, had long gray hair, and he danced like an expert warrior among the Draebek. They fell all around him.
Owen recognized him.
Arthron.
It was as if he was possessed.
The dragon caught sight of Arthron and redirected its focus from Owen to the new threat. Owen shouted out in warning, afraid that the Templar wouldn’t see as he was engaged with two other Draebek, but it was too late, and the fire burst free from the dragon’s maw.
Arthron turned at the last possible moment as the fire engulfed him. The two Draebek he was fighting were incinerated, their dreadful screams piercing through the sounds of battle before they were permanently cut off a moment later. But Arthron stood intact as the fire passed harmlessly beside him.
Then he charged the dragon.
The dragon swept its large tail to try to keep Arthron at bay, but Arthron ducked below it. A dagger appeared in his hand and he struck upward. The dragon screamed as the dagger pierced through its thick scales.
The dragon stepped forward, trying to close the distance between it and Arthron, but that was what Arthron wanted, and with his other hand he brought his draestl sword down.
The dragon stepped to the side and the sword barely glanced off its shoulder. It wasn’t a killing blow, but Owen watched as chunks of scales and flesh fell from the dragon’s side.
The dragon reared its head, and when it brought its head back down, its mouth was filled with fire. It blasted a bolt at Arthron, then another, then another. Bolt after bolt fired.
Arthron stood still and let them crash into him. They seemed to have no effect on him.
Soon the dragon opened its mouth to fire again, but nothing came out. Owen had heard that dragons could run out of fire, but he had never witnessed it before.
Arthron smiled an emotionless smile, then stepped forward, his sword above his head.
The dragon tried to turn, but as the sword came down, it took the dragon’s head off cleanly.
In a matter of minutes, the dragon was dead.
The Templar looked at Owen, and Owen started. The Templar was filled with more anger than Owen thought possible for one man to hold. He swallowed hard.
“Get up, and get out of here. Go find the others. Go find Wayd,” Arthron commanded.
It wasn’t a suggestion, so Owen quickly got to his feet. As he stood, he recognized the carnage all around them. There were dozens of dead Draebek, all slain at the hands of the Templar.
Owen looked at Arthron and almost commented on it, but decided not to as Arthron turned his focus toward the approaching Draebek. He and Arthron stood between the two opposing armies, and yet both approached cautiously, unsure of what power Arthron possessed. All had witnessed his wrath.
“Go, now,” Arthron commanded. Then he turned and charged toward the remaining Draebek.
There were thousands of them.
The pull was so powerful that Wayd could barely hold on to his sword. He saw several other weapons fly toward Thraegar, but Thraegar paid them no heed. His eyes were locked on Wayd.
Wayd tried to think of what to do, but no solutions came. Thraegar wasn’t interested in a fair fight. He was using his magical talisman to not only quickly dispose of him, but also to demonstrate his power and strength to the Draebek.
I have to do something.
He focused on his sword. Why was his weapon being pulled toward Thraegar when his armor wasn’t? He knew his armor was also made with draestl. Why is it only my sword?
He looked at his sword and focused his attention on it. What was it about draestl weapons that would cause them to be drawn toward Thraegar’s axe?
As he focused on his sword, he couldn’t help but be surprised by the conflict of emotions he was feeling. He was angry with Thraegar for the unnecessary deaths he had caused. But he also found himself drawn toward the Draebek in some strange way. Why was Korin so kind? Why was Shadmay treating him with respect?
As he recognized his emotions, his senses flared to life. His sword felt more real in his hands. His emotions became more raw. His surroundings suddenly felt closer. He looked around, and saw Thraegar, enveloped in rage, gesturing toward him. Thraegar was willing his magical weapon to pull Wayd’s sword toward him.
Wayd looked at his weapon and sudden realization dawned on him. He knew what to do. He stopped fighting against the pull, and instead focused on holding on to the weapon with all his might. He felt his feet leave the ground, and suddenly he was flying toward Thraegar.
It happened so fast that when Wayd landed a foot from Thraegar, he wondered if he had hallucinated the whole thing. But then he saw shock cross Thraegar’s face. It was replaced a moment later with rage.
Wayd didn’t
hesitate. He struck with his sword, slashing into the Thornclaw axe and sending it careening harmlessly off to the side. Then he pointed his sword at an unarmed Thraegar.
“Yield, or be struck down!” Wayd yelled.
For a moment Wayd thought about striking Thraegar regardless of his actions. Thraegar had caused so much pain and death—now was the time to stop it once and for all! But something in the back of his mind forced him to find restraint. The Draebek aren’t what they seem…
“Do it. Yield,” Wayd said against his will.
“Never,” Thraegar said. Then he spat.
As the spit hit Wayd in the face, Wayd felt his anger build. He found the desire again to strike down Thraegar once and for all. But again, he had a feeling that if he did, he would be making a grave mistake. Instead, he wiped the spit away with his free hand.
“You said if I beat you in a duel, you would blow the horn,” Wayd said calmly, but loud enough for all to hear. He could tell from the tension in the tent that everyone was on edge. “I just beat you. Yield, and blow the horn.”
Thraegar clenched his teeth.
Wayd felt exasperated. He had won. How can I get him to follow through?
“Do it, Thraegar,” Braethrin Bor stated.
“Follow through with your word,” Delthezar Drat said. “Where is your honor?”
“You must, Thraegar,” Shadmay advised as she walked toward him. Her hands held a small chest that Wayd had recognized from earlier. As she got closer, she reached one hand out and rested a finger on the tip of Wayd’s sword. He allowed her to lower it, though he didn’t take his eyes off Thraegar.
Then she took the chest with both hands and opened it. Within it was a plain horn. She took it reverently with both hands then handed it to Thraegar.
Thraegar shied away from it. He looked frightened.
“You must blow it,” Shadmay said.
“You know what will happen,” Thraegar said softly. He fell to his knees, dejected, and put his head in his hands.
Wayd was surprised he felt pity for him. Thraegar Thornclaw is a fraud…
“Do it,” Shadmay commanded. “Or you will lose the clans forever.”
Siege of Draestl Page 27