“But—” Thornclaw began, but Shadmay thrust the horn into his hands.
Thraegar took it. Then stood up. He scanned the room and locked eyes with any who were staring at him, daring them to challenge him. His bravado had returned. When he rested his eyes on Wayd, absolute hatred emanated from him.
I’ve made an enemy forever.
Then Thraegar took the horn and brought it to his lips.
He blew.
The most magical sound Wayd had ever heard filled the tent. It was melodious, powerful, and deep. It filled him with energy. He became aware of his senses, but they were magnified a hundred times more than the way he felt before. He was filled with love, with anger, with determination.
Thraegar stopped blowing and the sound ceased.
As Wayd looked at the dumbfounded faces all around him, it finally registered what had happened. The horn had sounded. And everyone had heard it.
Thraegar wasn’t a fraud after all.
Arthron rushed forward, his emotions building, fueling him forward. He saw the Draebek in front of him, could sense the dragons. He wanted them. All of them. Dead.
They regarded him suspiciously, wary at the destruction he had just enacted, but confident that he wouldn’t be able to win. He was only one.
And they were thousands.
That is where you are wrong.
Arthron focused on the energy within him. He focused on the source of it as it grew within his abdomen. He poured his emotions into it. And he felt himself grow stronger.
He struck.
The first dragon that attacked him lost its head a moment later.
Another dragon fired a blast of fire at him. Arthron jumped through the blaze—unscathed—and shoved his sword down the dragon’s throat.
A third dragon attacked from the sky. It tried biting his head off, but Arthron ducked and the dragon’s maw closed around his shoulder. Pain shot through him as he was lifted off the ground, but he smiled within. Should have made sure you got my head.
He sliced upward, cutting the dragon’s head off. The maw released and he fell a dozen feet to the ground.
He landed as Draebek began to swarm him.
That will be your last mistake.
His sword struck.
Draebek died.
Owen was hauled back toward the protection of their forces by Malithan. He wasn’t entirely listening to the few choice words Malithan was calling him, and he was certain that if Malithan’s wife was still around, she would have been very disappointed in her husband. Owen wasn’t sure if he liked the fact that Malithan had finally lost his composure. The perfect man isn’t so perfect after all!
But he was grateful to be back with the defenders. They welcomed him back warmly, but it was only for a moment. Though Arthron had run forward like a rabid dragon, the Draebek were still coming. Owen tried to find his friend, but he was overrun by Draebek. I hope he survives!
“You ready to re-engage?” Malithan asked.
Owen raised an eyebrow and almost asked if he had a choice, and felt slightly ashamed at the decision he would make if he did have a choice. He looked longingly back toward the city buildings that weren’t destroyed, and realized they were close to one of his favorite inns, but then shook his head.
“I’m ready,” he said reluctantly.
He thought he saw Malithan smile proudly, but figured it may have just been his imagination. Who would smile at a time like this, after all?
“We’re doing our best to fall back and form a line of defense to avoid being flanked, but dragons and transports are everywhere,” Malithan explained as he pointed above and around them. Owen looked up and saw more dragons flying overhead, some with only a single rider, and others with large transports that he knew were filled with Draebek.
He swallowed hard. He had hoped that his ploy to take out Thraegar Thornclaw and the subsequent attack with siege engines would have been enough to turn the tide of battle in their favor. But there were too many.
“Incoming!” a soldier yelled.
Owen, Malithan, and the others dove for cover as two dragons flew overhead and blasted fire at them. Nearby buildings exploded, and several men caught in the blaze screamed before they were silenced forever.
Owen knew they were in a losing war. They couldn’t win. There are too many of them!
As if his thought was prophetic, a dozen dragons landed on the ground between the two enemy forces. The nearby Draebek gathered around the dragons and they began charging forward as one.
Owen pulled himself up to his feet, grabbed his sword, and turned.
“Owen, go to them,” Malithan said softly as he pointed toward a defensive unit several yards away.
Owen regarded Malithan and saw how exhausted his friend was. Malithan was bedraggled. His armor was dented and stained. The few areas where his skin was exposed were covered with soot and scrapes, several of them bleeding profusely. His eyes were still tenacious, but he was on his last reserves.
Owen knew Malithan felt like everyone else did. He looked at the men around him and recognized a few younger boys within their numbers. They weren’t wearing armor, and didn’t have weapons that fit their size. They were members of the city coming to help defend. He saw women as well, using whatever they could find as weapons.
Dear Creator, this is going to be a massacre.
He looked at where Malithan was pointing, and smiled.
A single banner was still thrust into the air. A wolf head. The Alderidon Wolves, or what was left of them.
“Very well,” he responded. He watched the enemy as they charged—if I hurry, I can join them for this one last charge. He extended a hand to Malithan. “It’s been a pleasure, Malithan Hangdor.”
Malithan took his hand. “It’s been an honor, Owen Delmsmith,” Malithan agreed, then he reached out and embraced him before breaking away. “It is time.”
Owen turned and ran toward the Wolves, refusing to look back. He wanted to as he heard dragons roar, felt fire erupt, and heard screams, but he was afraid of what he would see if he did. Of who he would see lying dead on the ground. Instead he focused on the Wolves. He had to get to them. At least he would die with his men.
The Wolves were locked in battle as Draebek and dragons slammed into them. There weren’t Seekers or Templars to contain the dragons, so they fought with fury, and men and villagers died.
As Owen reached them, his heart ached with pain. So many of the Wolves were missing—probably dead—and the ones that fought looked defeated. A quick gauge of the battle confirmed that it was a few minutes before the Draebek broke through and overrun them. He didn’t know what to do.
So he charged. He raised his voice and screamed, “For the Wolves! For Ardonor! For Alderidon!”
The Wolves saw him and were momentarily distracted, but when they turned back to the Draebek force in front of them, they fought with renewed fury. Owen met them, and charged into the fray.
Draebek were everywhere. One swung a massive hammer at him, and Owen ducked below it, using its momentum against it to push it out of the way, then thrust up with his sword. The point slid by the draestl armor and into the man’s neck, severing it.
He spun as two more Draebek struck. He swung his blade in a wide arc to keep them at bay. One stepped clear of his sweeping blade as the other rushed forward, axe in hand. The Draebek feigned bringing the axe up, so Owen moved to avoid an attack, but then realized too late that the Draebek’s intended move was to charge. The Draebek lowered his shoulder and rushed for Owen as the other moved to his side.
Owen had to do something. He braced himself, brought his sword up, and leapt into the air and into the charging Draebek, his sword leading. The Draebek tried to change course, but Owen was too fast. He brought his sword down on the Draebek’s head.
The second Draebek charged. It had a hammer, and he swung it viscously. Owen landed on the ground, stepped over the body of the Draebek, and engaged.
Then he was thrown from his feet by a
tremendous force. Intense pain cascaded through him and he was enveloped in heat. He screamed out as his armor grew hotter. It felt like he was being cooked from within.
He ignored the approaching Draebek, all his attention focused on the armor that was literally burning him alive. He tried to locate the source of the fire, but lost his attention as the heat intensified. I have to get this armor off! Now! He threw his sword to the ground and began undoing his armor. As he got the chest plate off, the cool air felt refreshing to his skin, and he looked down and saw blisters forming across his body.
What in the name of the Creator?
A loud crunch nearby grabbed his attention, and he turned to see a green dragon approaching, its mouth still smoldering from the blast of fire that had just hit him.
He realized how lucky he was to have survived.
Then he remembered the Draebek. He tried to scramble to his feet and grab his weapon, but when he turned toward the Draebek that he feared was about to strike him down, he couldn’t find him anywhere.
But then he spotted the Draebek’s remains. Not so lucky as I, Owen thought, satisfied. The only thing that remained of the Draebek was a smoldering pile of armor.
Draestl armor.
That’s odd, Owen thought. Why does draestl armor protect Templars but not Draebek?
His thought was cut off as he heard the dragon approach. It had opened its mouth and a glow began to form, only to putter out a moment later. Owen felt immense relief. It’s out of fire. But then he saw the rows of jagged teeth in the open mouth as the dragon approached. There were thousands of them, and Owen found himself wishing that he would die by incineration instead of being eaten alive. Dear Creator, this day…
One of the Wolves charged from behind, but the dragon spun acrobatically, and its tail lashed out and connected, sending him flying a dozen feet through the air before crashing to the ground. Draebek swarmed him.
More of the Wolves approached more cautiously, but Owen knew they would end with a similar fate. He tried to get up, but he couldn’t. His body was bruised, exhaustion was overtaking him, and he was lucky he was alive. No need for anyone else to die trying to save him.
“Stay back!” he commanded as the Wolves continued to approach. “This one is mine.”
He clambered to his feet and retrieved his sword. The weapon was hot to the touch and he almost dropped it, but he willed himself to hold on. He took a step toward the beast, but paused as he looked back at the remaining members of the Alderidon Wolves. He needed to give one more command, for he had made a promise, even if no one had heard him utter it.
“Find Wayd. At any cost. Bring him back to safety,” Owen pled.
The Wolves looked at him hopelessly and Owen knew they felt like he did. What he asked was impossible. He knew that. They were surrounded. Dragons were everywhere, the Draebek were innumerable. But it made him feel better. I’m trying to do all I can to save you, Wayd.
But he knew that all he could do wasn’t enough.
He felt emotions begin to overtake him and he swallowed hard.
I will not cry in front of this bloody dragon.
He stepped forward, and the dragon’s tail swept out faster than he thought possible. It connected with him on his unarmored chest and Owen felt ribs crack and his breath escape. Then he was flying through the air. He landed in a pile of debris and felt several objects penetrate his body. He was acutely aware that several more ribs broke and one of his arms had landed awkwardly. He tried to push himself up, but his arm protested and exhaustion was overtaking him. He gasped for air, but it came slowly.
He went in and out of consciousness, and each time he returned, a wave of nausea overwhelmed him. Each time, the dragon was closer.
Soon the dragon stood above him. Owen put his one good hand above his head, and wondered if somehow Arthron would return to save him.
But he knew this time was different. Arthron had run off in a rage, and Owen wasn’t even sure if any of the other Templars and Seekers were still alive.
He knew he was going to die on the streets of Draestl.
He closed his eyes as the dragon opened its maw. He got a whiff of its breath and nearly gagged. I’m going to be eaten by a rotten mouth? Seriously? He waited for the inevitable excruciating pain to come.
Nothing.
He waited again, bracing himself for the pain.
Nothing.
He opened his eyes and looked up.
The dragon was erect, his head looking back toward the Draebek tents. Owen was almost positive that if it was possible, the dragon looked confused.
Then suddenly it leapt into the air and started to fly away.
“What in the name of the—” Owen began.
He scrambled to his feet and watched as dragon after dragon lifted into the air and flew away. Even if they were in the middle of a battle, they rose and flew away.
The Draebek that were left behind looked confused. They watched as their dragons, their formidable cavalry, abandoned them. At first Owen thought this must have meant that the war was already lost, but the look of confusion, surprise, and fear that was etched on the faces of the Draebek told him otherwise.
He suddenly felt like they had a chance. The dragons were abandoning the Draebek. We have a chance!
He looked up one more time to ensure that he wasn’t hallucinating, and he saw dragons filling the sky. Several had riders who were trying to use reins to turn the beasts back to the battle. Others had full transports of Draebek.
They were all turning away and heading back to camp.
“For Ardonor!” Owen yelled as he picked up his weapon. The pain in his body was excruciating, but his adrenaline filled him with vigor. He knew they only had one chance to strike while the Draebek were disoriented. The remaining Wolves were next to him in a moment.
“Let’s take out these bloody fools and find Wayd!” he yelled.
Then he charged with the Wolves at his side.
Wayd looked around the room, confused. The dream had been very clear. The horn would be blown and no sound would come forth, therefore convincing all around that Thraegar was a fraud.
But it had sounded. All of them had heard it.
The dream was a trick. It forced me to have him blow it so that Thraegar would become more powerful!
He felt used. He felt sick. He looked at Shadmay, and was surprised that she had a look of confusion on her face. He looked at Korin, and he had a look of fear. Wayd wondered why.
But then he turned toward Thraegar.
Thraegar stood with the horn reverently held before him, a look of adulation on his face. He was proud. Confident. Destined.
“I am the leader of the Draebek!” he yelled out triumphantly. “All will follow me. All will bow before me!”
The feeling of the room was tense. Wayd looked at the other clan chiefs. They looked conflicted. Part of them realized they had to obey, but the other part was afraid what that meant.
There was no doubt they hated Thraegar Thornclaw. But Draebek were loyal. They would obey.
Thraegar turned toward Braethrin Bor. “Bow. You never did before, and you asked for proof. Have I given you proof? Have I?! Bow to me! Now!” he screamed derisively.
Braethrin Bor looked around, uncertain of what to do.
A runner came running through the tent doors. “The dragons!” he yelled frantically. “They are fleeing! Our forces are confused!”
Thraegar didn’t seem to hear. He stared at Braethrin Bor, exuding hatred. “Bow to me or be struck down!”
Braethrin Bor reluctantly fell to his knees, his head sagging in defeat.
Wayd tried to comprehend what was happening. Why was Shadmay so distraught if Wayd had just solidified Thraegar’s place as unifier of the Draebek? He also felt stupid for how foolishly he had fallen into the trap. Who better to convince everyone than Thraegar’s sworn enemy!
Then the words of the runner registered. The dragons are fleeing?
His mind raced. Has the prophe
cy been fulfilled? He replayed it in his mind. The horn would sound and the white dragon would appear. Sudden hope filled him. Where was the white dragon? From what Korin had explained, the prophecy wasn’t fulfilled when the horn sounded. It was fulfilled when the white dragon appeared.
Where is the white dragon?
He summoned courage he prayed was somewhere within, and opened his mouth to speak.
“Where is the dragon?” he asked nervously.
His voice cut through the silence in the tent like a knife through warm bread. Thraegar turned to him, his face livid with rage. “You dare speak?”
But Wayd wasn’t watching him. He was watching Shadmay. As he had brought up the idea, her confusion and fear was replaced with hope. I’m onto something.
“The prophecy,” he continued. “Doesn’t it state that when you blow the Horn of Grind that the white dragon will appear?”
Thraegar stumbled back, his confidence wavering. It returned a moment later. “No,” Thraegar explained. “It states the horn will only blow in the presence of the white dragon.”
“Shadmay, is that true?” Korin asked.
Shadmay wasn’t looking at Korin, or Thraegar, but at Wayd. Wayd felt uncomfortable under the gaze. She smiled softly at him, then turned toward Korin. “It does.”
“See!” Thraegar said victoriously. “So the prophecy is fulfilled!”
“It does say that it will sound in the presence of the white dragon,” Shadmay said. “But Thraegar, Wayd has a point. Where is the white dragon? Surely if the horn sounded, the white dragon would be here. So the sound by itself isn’t proof.”
Thraegar looked betrayed. “What?”
“Where is the white dragon?” Shadmay repeated.
“Where is the white dragon?” Braethrin Bor said as he angrily stood. Wayd watched as he pulled out the hammer that was strapped behind his back. Thraegar didn’t even notice.
Thraegar began walking back and forth. “How could this happen, Shadmay? It is the Horn of Grind. I claimed it from Grindhold itself.”
“Did you?” Braethrin asked skeptically.
Thraegar ignored him. “And the runner said the dragons are fleeing? Why? I used this horn to train them. To develop them. Why would it fail me now, in my greatest moment? Shadmay, what is happening!” he pled.
Siege of Draestl Page 28