Crucible’s roar of protest rumbled through the camp like thunder, drawing Linsha’s attention back to the moment. She cast aside any thoughts of shock, hurt, and anger to concentrate on the battle and the dragon she wanted to help. The leaves of the Grandfather Tree were still hidden under her tunic near the dragon scales. Somehow she had to get free of this cage and work out a way to use the leaves to free Crucible of Lanther’s spell. It sounded easy enough in words, but in reality she had no solid idea how to proceed.
One step at a time, she told herself. First, she had to get out of the cage.
Over the uproar of shouting voices, trampling feet, and rattling weapons, Linsha heard the heavy tread of the dragon go by. She could not see him from her position in the wagon, but she listened as he passed and realized he was being unnaturally quiet. He no longer growled or roared or argued. Was he seething or had Lanther found a way to control him beyond the barb in his back? She craned her neck as far as it would go and finally found a way to see the hillside. She just caught a glimpse of Crucible escorted by Lanther and his bodyguards. Her worry grew more desperate.
Still on her knees, she lashed out at the door of the cage with her booted heel, but the door didn’t budge, and the two guards shouted at her. One slammed his shield on the cage to make her back away. They did not look very pleased to be left behind to guard a woman. Linsha responded with a Tarmak phrase she had heard the guards shout at slaves and was rewarded with a loud barrage of words and a second slam by the shield.
Suddenly the Tarmak’s war horns blared across the lines of waiting warriors, and a thunderous shout shook the camp. The guards turned around to watch as the long lines of blue-skinned Brutes broke into a trot and moved up the hill. In loose groups of a hundred, they moved past the camp, up the long slope of the hill, and down the crest out of sight. Several troops of heavy cavalry cantered by and veered north to move up the valley in a flanking maneuver.
Linsha’s fingers tightened around the bars of the cage as she watched them go. They were so tall, so strong and graceful that she could not help but fear for the people she knew and liked on the other side. Did they stand a chance? What were they doing at this moment as the Tarmaks appeared on the hilltop and swarmed down into the valley in seemingly endless thousands? She had seen Sir Hugh and Falaius, but was Leonidas there? Where was the healer Danian and his red-haired apprentice? She hoped they were close by, for she knew they would be needed before this day was over. And what would they do about Crucible? She knew Falaius had explained to the chiefs and tribal leaders about the dragon’s predicament, but what if they were forced to kill him to prevent him from destroying their men in his throes under the spell?
She glanced at the guards again and moved surreptitiously over to the door. The small door that opened into the wooden cage was firmly tied with a thick rope. The Tarmaks hadn’t bothered with a lock, since anyone inside the cage who wished to get out needed a very sharp knife or an axe-neither one of which she had-to get through the thick bindings. She studied the guards, but they were too far away, and they were more likely to jab her with their spears or swords than get close enough to be conveniently strangled. She sat back on her heels, taut with frustration.
In the distance, from the other side of the hill, came the music of horns and drums, then a vast, ringing roar of war cries overlaying a thunder of pounding hooves and trampling feet. There was a great crash as the armies collided, and abruptly the sounds disintegrated into a cacophony of shouts, screams, clashing weapons, and a dragon’s roar.
Linsha’s guards took an involuntary step toward the noise.
She glared at their backs, wishing she had a handy supply of knives, when she caught a slight movement in the farthest edge of her vision. Somewhere, off to her left, something had moved in the trees down by the river. She turned slightly to get a better look. There were a few trees and only a little ground cover between the Tarmak camp and the riverbank, but she was sure something had moved down there where a clump of young willows had taken root in a depression about halfway between the edge of the camp and the river. She looked harder, and then she saw them-a dozen men or maybe more creeping through the high grass toward the camp. They were well camouflaged with mud and grasses and could barely be seen against the browns, greens, and reds of the landscape.
Linsha whipped around to check the guards, but they were still engrossed with the sounds of battle. Nearby, other Tarmak servants, a few slaves, and more guards moved about the tents and the wagons, unaware of the enemy stalking their camp.
She heard the soft, unmistakable sound of arrows whizzing by and saw both Tarmak guards pitch forward with arrows protruding from their necks. The men in the grass sprang to their feet and sprinted up the slope toward a rough line of brush just as two centaurs galloped out of the trees. A small brown shape flew with them and winged directly to Linsha’s cage.
“She’s here! She’s here!” Varia screeched to the centaurs.
A young buckskin and an older chestnut the color of polished cedar raced past the men and galloped through the outskirts of the camp to the wagon where Linsha was caged. Both carried bows that they nocked, drew, and loosed as they ran.
Shouts erupted in the camp, and Tarmak guards came running only to die in a barrage of well aimed arrows from the men hidden in the brush.
“Where are the others?” shouted the red horseman, whom Linsha recognized as Horemheb. “Where is the other Knight?”
“Dead,” said Linsha. “It’s just me.”
The buckskin Leonidas sliced through the ropes on the door of the cage and yanked it open. Linsha shot through it like an arrow and jumped from the wagon onto Leonidas’s back. The two centaurs wheeled and charged back the way they had come, firing their bows as fast as they could. The few guards left in that part of the camp fell back before them.
Linsha held onto Leonidas with her hands and knees as he ran down the slope into the trees. Once into the copse of young cottonwoods the two stallions turned and used their bows to cover the retreat of the men. A few Tarmaks tried to chase them and died on the grassy slope.
As soon as the last man was in the trees, the entire group ran for the river to a denser stand of willows. There, behind the cover of the trees, they splashed into the water and waded across the Red Rose to the opposite bank where horses waited patiently in the shade. Linsha watched, impressed, while the men waded out of the river and mounted their horses. They were Plains barbarians, locals probably, who knew the twists and turns of the river and where to find crossings among the dangerous mudflats and shoals. They grinned at her through their mud masks and congratulated each other in their own tongue.
“How long have you been here?” she asked Leonidas. She knew they would have been spotted by the Tarmaks if they had tried to cross in daylight.
“Since last night. We left the horses here and crossed over before dawn.”
She heard a flutter of wings and held out an arm. A delighted owl dropped from the sky, landed on her wrist, and scooted up to her shoulder.
“Varia told us you were still alive and where you were,” Horemheb said. “It made it much easier to strike fast and get out. But what happened to the other Knight and the captain? We thought they were with you?”
Linsha leaned her face against Varia’s soft feathers and took a deep breath. “Lanther killed Sir Remmik this morning. He sent the body on horseback to your lines. Mariana was killed by the Akkad-Ur four days ago.”
A sudden silence surrounded her, and she closed her eyes so she would not have to see the shock and sadness on his face that so deeply mirrored her own feelings.
“Oh no, not Mariana,” Leonidas whispered. “And Lanther? He is the traitor you and Falaius tried so hard to find? He killed Sir Remmik?”
Linsha could only nod. She had not yet cried for Mariana, or for her loss of Lanther’s friendship. Although she could feel the burning, prickling of tears in her eyes, she fought them back. This was not the time. Not yet. Not while Crucible
was caught between two armies.
“Leonidas, please. I will tell you everything later, but now I have to get to Crucible. Lanther forced him to into the battle, and I fear what he might do if that barb overcomes his self-control.”
26
Battle on the Red Rose
The riders and centaurs turned upstream and trotted back in the direction of their own army. They passed the hill on the opposite bank, and the valley opened up where they could see a great cloud of dust that billowed and swirled above the struggling armies. The noise increased to a muted roar of voices and the myriad sounds of violent impact.
“Look!” Leonidas said. “They’ve fired the grass!” He pointed north toward the far end of the valley.
The tribesmen, Linsha knew, sometimes set grass-fires to thwart enemy flanking or cut off retreat. She looked into the valley where the Tarmaks fought with the Duntollik confederation, but she could not yet see Crucible. There was too much dust hanging in the air. Varia trilled something to her and dived off her shoulder into a glide that took her swiftly over the river. Linsha watched her beat her wings to rise to a better height and skim off to the west.
Meanwhile, the plainsmen led the centaurs on a narrow trail along the low bank of the river that skirted beds of reeds and muddy pools to another ford between the gravel bars and sinking sands where horses could cross the river without too much difficulty. They trotted across, sending fountains of silty water splashing into the air, and clambered up the shallow bank onto the northern side.
Varia came flying back as fast. She didn’t bother to land on Linsha’s shoulder but hooted urgently, “Come!” And flew back toward the surging, raging mass of men and Tarmaks.
Leonidas needed no urging. He galloped after her, placing an arrow in his bow as he ran. Horemheb followed at his heels, the others right behind him. They crossed the flatlands Linsha had noticed earlier and raced up onto drier land.
A breeze picked up at that moment and swirled the dust around the armies. Sunlight glittered on thousands of swords and weapons and helms. Drums boomed over the fighting, and dozens of colorful flags swirled in the wind.
Linsha strained to see Varia overhead and finally picked her out moving toward a space near the center where the Run crossed the valley. The wind gusted again, and she caught a glitter of sunlight on metallic bronze scales. She tapped Leonidas’s shoulder and pointed.
“Get me a sword!” she yelled over the uproar.
By this time they reached the fringes of the fighting where the wounded were retreating and plunged in among the dead and injured. Leonidas fired an arrow at a moving Tarmak, bent low, and yanked a sword out of a dead warrior’s chest. He tossed the sword to Linsha and reloaded his bow in one smooth movement. The small troop slowed their gallop to a canter as the fighting around them increased. Several of the plainsmen fell back, diverted by attackers. One was pulled down and killed by two Tarmak. The centaurs plowed on through the struggling mass toward the place where Varia hovered.
Suddenly they heard a fearsome roar over the pandemonium of the field. They saw the bronze dragon rear upright out of the mass of Tarmaks. His wings beat wildly, and he shook his head back and forth as if in great pain. His jaws fell open, and a brilliant beam of light shot from his mouth into the sky. Warriors of both sides screamed and shouted in terror and fell back around him. Dragonfear spread in ever-increasing ripples that sent weaker men running in terror.
Everything around the dragon turned to chaos. Leonidas and Horemheb and their surviving escorts were slowed to a difficult trot as they fought their way through seething mass of battling Tarmaks and tribesmen, fleeing warriors, and the dead and the wounded that littered the ground. Linsha hacked and slashed at any blue skin that got too close and defended the centaur’s right while he loaded and fired his bow in rapid succession. Around them the dust and smoke grew thicker until Linsha could barely see more than a few yards through the swirling, stinking air.
All at once the space cleared out before them as the fighting shifted away from the dragon, and they saw Lanther standing in a circle of his guards, his face still masked and his fist raised at Crucible.
The dragon screeched in hideous pain. His tail lashed out and caught two of the Tarmak guards, slamming them off their feet. But Lanther was so intent on his spell that he did not notice.
“Is that him?” Leonidas snapped, struggling to fight off the dragonfear. “The short blue-skin?”
“Yes,” Linsha replied. “Kill him if you can.”
The awe and terror emanating from the enraged dragon did not affect her this time. Her mind was already too full of powerful emotions.
The young centaur’s bow sang and an arrow slipped neatly into the gap left by the guards before they could regain their positions. It caught Lanther high in the shoulder and spun him off his feet.
Linsha saw him fall, and she prayed to any god that would listen that the spell would be broken and Crucible would be free to escape.
But the arrow that struck the Akkad-Dar was not fatal, and Linsha could see him struggle to rise. He lifted his hand again and snapped a loud, clear command. Linsha did not need to understand it to know what it meant. Her heart sank in despair.
Crucible screamed a long, terrible sound. He dropped to all four feet then collapsed to his side on the ground where he writhed in agony, his heavy body crushing anyone hapless enough to get in his way.
“Crucible!” Linsha shrieked. She threw her leg over Leonidas’s back, and slid off, her sword still clutched in her hand. She had lost too many friends and given up too much to lose this dragon now. She didn’t think she could bear another death, especially his. Desperate to save him, she ducked past his thrashing tail and ran toward his head.
Leonidas started after her, but a squad of furious Tarmak guards charged him and he was forced to turn and defend himself. Raising a war cry, he and Horemheb joined in the furious battle.
Linsha heard Leonidas’s war cry in a distant part of her mind. She knew a battle was surging around her, but all she could see, all she could think about was the dragon thrashing and moaning on the churned up earth. She reached his head and yelled his name, but he gave no response. His eyes were closed, and his lips were curled back in a snarl of pain and bitter anger. His breathing was fast and irregular. She tried again to call him and beat her fist on his nose.
This time one eye cracked open.
“Crucible! It’s me! Don’t move!”
She scrambled up on the dragon’s leg and climbed toward his shoulder. Another spasm of intense pain racked his body. Her feet slipped out from under her, but she scrabbled up high enough to grab the ridge on his neck and hold on until his shaking stopped again. Scrambling and clawing her way along his slippery scales, she pulled herself up the peak of his shoulders and balanced herself on his wing joint. She had no problem finding the entry wound. The crossbow bolt had disfigured and blackened his scales between his shoulder blades and left a raw, bloody hole.
“The barb!” she screamed. “Where is it? I can’t see it!”
“It’s gone,” he panted. “Inside… too late.”
“No!” She shouted. “Not yet! Fight it! Don’t let him win!”
She noticed Varia dip down and circle close to her head, and the sight of the owl helped calm some of her raging thoughts. Holding on to Crucible’s wing joint, she forced her mind to slow down, to relax, to seek a calm where she could think. What did she have that she could use to help the dragon? Two leaves from an ancient tree, two dragon scales, her own small talent, and the words of a tribal shaman.
“Did Danian say anything more to you about the leaves?” she yelled to Varia.
The owl hooted a no. “Although,” she added, “the Grandfather Tree was a gift from a god of neutrality. Perhaps the leaves can be used to help neutralize a spell of evil.”
Linsha plunged her hand into her tunic and pulled out the rolled packet of leaves and the chain with the dragon scales. Leaving the scales dangling, she flipped t
he fabric around the leaves so they unrolled in her hand.
The two leaves were still fresh looking, colored a lovely blue green, with five deep lobes on each leaf. Linsha stared at them wide-eyed as if she had never seen them before while her mind bloomed with a sudden inspiration. The long, lobed leaves resembled nothing so much as hands. The hands of a god. The Tree of Life.
Zivilyn, god of wisdom, she thought with all the strength she could muster, help me help this dragon.
Then the words of the shaman returned to her memory, and she knew what she should do… if the dragon could survive it, and if the centaurs could keep the Tarmaks off her long enough.
“Crucible!” she yelled. She slithered down the dragon’s shoulder and returned to his head. “Crucible!” She yelled again to get his attention.
He looked worse now. His breathing was still rapid and shallow, and his scales looked dingy. The golden light of his eyes had faded. He still writhed in pain, but his movements were weaker and not as frantic, and he did not respond to her voice.
She kicked him hard on the nose. “Crucible! Listen to me! I think I have a way to get that barb out. But I need your help. Don’t give up now! Help me.”
One eye slowly opened wider and rolled toward her. “How?”
“The barb entered your back while you were shape-shifting. I want to try to get it out, but you have to change again.”
“The Akkad-Ur warned me the barb would kill me if I tried to shapeshift,” he moaned.
“It will kill you if you don’t!”
“Tell him to change to something smaller!” Varia cried overhead. “That way the barb will be easier to reach.” She paused then hooted a warning. “And tell him to hurry! The grassfires are getting closer.”
“Make yourself smaller,” Linsha ordered. “Just not too small or the barb will reach your heart before I can get it.”
“I don’t know if I have the strength,” he gasped.
Flight of the Fallen l-2 Page 24