I’ve incinerated the bow and all those associated with it, thought Magwaddle. He thrust out his wings with a snap, flapped them thrice, swooping back, then up, and turned around to glide again, circling over the city. I’ll reduce everything here to ash on barren rock.
*
Duke Jedrac watched the enraged attack from the neighboring tower. His stomach seemed to turn over. I might have been in that tower, he thought. When the stones crumbled and toppled down the side of the tower column, he jerked upright, fixing his stare on Magwaddle.
“He’s turned up,” Jedrac exclaimed. “I’m sure he’s going to soar over the fortress again; be ready! The fake soldiers and that broken down crossbow won’t fool him again. We won’t get another chance.” The duke turned to the tense crew. “You understand? We cannot miss. If he’s overconfident he vaporized the threat, he’ll still likely come over this tower. He’ll expose his breast again. Is the last arrow ready?”
Trembling from the threat of both the dragon and the duke, the archer merely nodded and rechecked the rearmed crossbow.
Magwaddle soared over the mountains to the west, turned and, flapping his wings, headed back, bearing down on Hador and the Hadorhof.
“Steady men!”
The great reptile soared lower, aiming straight for the duke’s tower. As he closed in on the parapet, the radiant lines of his individual bronze scales were clearly visible.
“Hold steady; I’ll tell you when to fire!”
Magwaddle rolled slightly to better his angle on the tower. One last wing flap for lift and his wings flew back, exposing his breast.
“Fire!” Jedrac yelled.
The huge timbered crossbow jumped off the floor from the power released by the bow. As the arrow fired, light exploded from the great crystal in the wizard’s staff. The last arrow shot out the window, straight for the dragon’s breast. The angle was perfect, and the arrow didn’t deflect.
The flash must have caught the dragon’s eye, as well. Magwaddle jerked his head down to locate the light’s source. His great head crossed his chest just as the arrow flew at him. The enormous shaft tore into the thick cartilage of the overhanging waddle on Magwaddle’s head, pinning it to his chest. In the tower, they could hear the crunching as the iron arrowhead tore through the massive scales.
The arrow’s impact slammed Magwaddle back in the air, and he screamed. He flapped madly to recover from the blow, becoming a chaotic mass of spinning bronze, struggling to regain altitude. Blood spurted from beneath the waddle, where the arrow tore into his chest.
“We got him!” the archer yelled, jumping up, waving his fists in the air.
Jedrac looked back to see archer and wizard cheering, dancing around the room. He turned back to the window.
The great enraged dragon screamed, smashed into a rooftop slightly below but then recovered somewhat and flew up, thrashing into the clouds. Magwaddle jerked his head up, tearing the bloody arrow from his chest. The arrow protruded through his waddle like a battle trophy, still dripping blood. Smoke poured from his nostrils, mixing with the gray clouds in a swirling mass. Blood splattered on the tower roof, steaming with acidic vapor.
“He’s not dead,” Jedrac mumbled to the crew that wasn’t listening.
The instant he recovered from the blow, Magwaddle turned, fixed his red and yellow eyes on the tower, and dove straight for it with ever increasing speed. When the winged beast approached the mountain peaks, he slapped his waddle against a stone peak, shattering the arrow’s shaft. Wood fragments burst in a shower east of the city. Magwaddle again fixed his stare on the duke’s tower. His irises flashed scarlet.
“He’s seen us. Everyone below!” the duke shouted.
His men stopped celebrating and scurried down the tower’s spiral staircase.
“Move men; we only have seconds.” The duke and wizard were the last two to the staircase. There, the wizard pushed Jedrac ahead of him and turned back. The swooshing sound of the dragon’s wings so close now sounded like a gale force wind.
“Hurry, Your Grace, no time to lose. I must try one last thing,” the wizard yelled, rushing back to the window.
“Come back here!” Jedrac bellowed, but the wizard was at the window. There’s no time to argue, the duke thought. Seconds are critical. It’s too late to go drag the wizard to the stairs. The duke hurried down the tower after his soldiers, seeking refuge in the dungeon’s cold stone.
*
The dragon locked his stare on the tower, then window, then the wizard, standing defiantly, facing the dragon with robes flapping in the wind. The crystal in the wizard’s staff was radiant. Magwaddle smacked his lips, splashing sparks that streamed back beside his snout.
The wizard’s cold stare intensified with the rich blue glow of his staff’s crystal. His arm shot straight out with the staff, shooting blue bolts at the dragon.
Magwaddle’s rage intensified. He shot flames at the wizard.
Where the red flames smashed into blue wizard-fire bolts, sparks exploded and thunder reverberated. The exploding dragon-fire and wizard-fire bolts lit up the sky in a shower of flame and sparks that could be seen as far away as Graushdemheimer in the south.
A blue bolt burned through the skin on Magwaddle’s left wing. The dragon bellowed. He shot his head forward and sent a stream of fire at the wizard that neutralized the next three wizard-fire bolts hurled at him. This continued as the dragon strained his smoldering wing to fly up and dive at the tower. The wizard countered with a powerful defense, but the wizard’s crystal grew paler and paler with each surge of the staff’s fire.
With the staff’s power rapidly depleting, the exhausted wizard chanted a new incantation as he swirled the staff in a circle. The metallic thread runes on his long robe glowed. Magwaddle watched as the wizard pulled magnetic energy from the mountain’s core, spinning it into a warbling energy disk to deflect the dragon. The beast continued to dive and smash into the swirling disk. Shooting sparks flew each time. Eventually, the wizard exhausted his reserves faster than the enraged and wounded dragon. The spiraling energy warp shrank in intensity and resistance.
Despite his wounds, Magwaddle sensed time was his. Finally catching the wizard exhausted and off-guard for a moment, the dragon dove at the tower and, snorting his reserve of fire, completely surrounded the wizard in flame. In an instant, the staff’s crystal fell to the floor and shattered amid the falling ash of the wizard and his staff. The tower was coated with soot and silence. Magwaddle had extinguished the last defiance. He turned north, flapping his burned wing and still dripping blood from his chest and waddle.
* * *
Memlatec was in council with Saxthor at Helshian Court Palace when the hawk arrived from Hador with his grim message. The exhausted bird landed on the balcony’s balustrade where the wizard could see him. The wizard retrieved the message, read it, and for the first time Saxthor could remember, Memlatec sank into a high back chair at the conference table.
“What is it, Memlatec?” Saxthor asked.
“A substantial portion of Dreaddrac’s eastern army has successfully passed under the Hador Mountains.” He handed the message to Saxthor.
“While the castilyernov can hold out for a long time, Dreaddrac’s army, now in Hador, is large enough to control the dukedom, create havoc in Graushdem, and threaten the very capital of Graushdemheimer,” Saxthor said to the assembled advisors.
“Dreaddrac’s king has his two pincers loose on the peninsula. There is little to thwart their movement south,” Memlatec added, looking up at Saxthor.
“We must send word to all the military commanders, bringing them up to date on the threat in the northeast. Alert them to prepare for an attack at any time,” Saxthor said, his tone grim. “The Dark Lord has moved even more swiftly and successfully than we anticipated. If he’s circumvented Hador, none of the eastern cities will be safe.”
“Graushdem is all that stands between Dreaddrac and Neuyokkasin,” a general added.
“I had hoped Ki
ng Ormadese could flood the tunnels before the Dark Lord’s army moved through them,” the wizard said, looking down at the table. “Hador was the strongest defensive point on the peninsula. Neutralizing it will demoralize the southern states’ armies.”
“Your majesty must move quickly to take the initiative and bolster your troops’ morale,” a general said, leaning forward.
“We’re in grave trouble, Memlatec,” the king said.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” the wizard replied. The old sorcerer rose slowly with a reassuring smile on his usually stern face. The violet eyes that intimidated everyone else cast a blue hue. The king instantly regained his composure and self-confidence. “We’ll have to be more clever and gain time to prepare a stronger shield.”
“Yes, of course,” Saxthor responded, his tone stronger. He was ashamed he allowed his momentary lapse of resolve to show. “We’ll not let this demoralize the troops. Defense for now, but only offense will subdue Dreaddrac.”
Delia, the king’s faithful dog, silently moved around the table and licked the wizard’s hand. The wizard looked down at her and smiled. Delia lifted her right upper lip in a smile, put her paw in Memlatec’s hand, and then returned to Saxthor’s side. Saxthor knew that, though no words passed between them, Delia offered the genuine thanks the king couldn’t.
“We’ll send a messenger to King Grekenbach and Queen Nonee informing them of the news and offering what support we can.”
“I hope Princess Dagmar is well,” the wizard said.
He’s changing the subject to spare me embarrassment, Saxthor thought.
“Dagmar has begun to organize sanctuaries for the sick and wounded in the event the attack comes here and we need to evacuate injured from the battle front along the border. Her Highness is quite amazing in her concern for the people here. The dowager queen wishes to establish such houses to care for the sick in Sengenwha when she can return there,” Saxthor said. He pointed to Dagmar’s portrait on the wall. “We’re very proud of Dagmar.”
“Perhaps we should adjourn the meeting until tomorrow and get some rest, Majesty,” Memlatec suggested.
“Yes, of course. This has been a long day, and we need time to consider this new power shift before making additional plans. Meeting adjourned until ten in the morning.”
When the generals had donned their plumed helmets, and they with the other ministers and councilors left, Memlatec remained with his protégé. Saxthor was rolling up scrolls and maps when the wizard approached him at the head of the great table. He put his hand on Saxthor’s shoulder.
“Your mother and father would be proud of how you’ve grown and risen to the throne’s responsibilities so quickly. Your bringing the Sengenwhan royal family to Konnotan was a stroke of genius.”
“Not genius, Memlatec, just the right decision in a crisis.”
“You’ve been able to ally the venerable but hostile Kingdom of Sengenwha with the Neuyokkasinian Kingdom nonetheless. Generations have failed to do that. While Dagmar may rule Sengenwha as queen independently during her lifetime, if you two marry, your son will rule an empire from Talok-Lemnos in the north to Sengenwha in the west and south to the Powterosian Empire. The fact that the two of you are so obviously in love is quite the unusual bonus.” He turned away and started to leave.
“Marry?” Saxthor questioned. He looked up at his mentor. “I love her, that’s certain, but we can’t marry, Memlatec. Had I asked Calamidese for her hand when he was last here, we might have married, but now with him gone, and her queen in absentia, her people wouldn’t permit her to marry their generational enemy as monarch.” His head drooped.
For a moment, Memlatec turned back. “We shall see. For now, if your infant empire can just survive the onslaught of the evil pouring down from Dreaddrac, the future may be bright. Time heals wounds, Saxthor.”
Saxthor followed the wizard out of the room in silence. Heals wounds but leaves scars, he thought.
* * *
At the meeting the next morning, Memlatec brought up the subject of Sengenwha and the orc army threat there.
“What news of Sengenwha, Your Majesty?” a general asked.
Saxthor sat at the head of the conference table behind a flutter of maps.
“Count Vicksnak has returned with grim news indeed. General Tarquak is consolidating his power in Sengenwhapolis. The orcs are said to be reorganizing on the southern plains, while in the north there’s little defiance of the new order. All serious resistance has evaporated since Tarquak wiped out the late grand duke’s northern forces in the battle to relieve pressure on the capital.
“The troops that survived the battles are pouring into Botahar on the Pundar River. Being a trading port, it has few substantial defenses, and those were only built when Calamidese fortified the city after the first seizure of Sengenwhapolis. Certainly it will crumble in the event Ozrin flies east from Sengenwhapolis and attacks the city. He’ll reduce it to ash and rubble at will,” Saxthor replied. His stance slumped, and he fiddled with the map where Botahar displayed.
“Sengenwhapolis was such a beautiful country, and the capital was a maze of grand old palaces and quaint little streets. Its people were warm for the most part. They only wanted to trade and farm in peace. Now, their homes and farms are forfeited. They’re left wandering beggars in their own land,” the last ambassador to Sengenwha added.
Memlatec had stood back against the wall, leaning on his staff, listening. He now moved forward; the rod clacked on the stone floor. The councilors turned to hear what he had to say.
“I fear once General Tarquak consolidates his power, his cruel nature will want more blood, and his army will turn south. We must be ready, Majesty.”
“Yes,” Saxthor responded. “We’ve done all we can to prepare for the war as it moves to our borders. We fear that must happen soon. The question now is will General Tarquak move on his own, or will he hold back until General Vylvex moves his forces down the peninsula’s eastern side to attack us on both fronts. We don’t know that we can muster troops enough to defend the border the full length along Talok-Lemnos and across Neuyokkasin to the Tixosian Sea. Would that we had Sengenwha as an effective ally. It would greatly reduce the expanse of border we must defend,” the king said, studying the maps and borders. He casually crossed off Sengenwha on the map, denoting it was no longer an active player.
*
Twiddle flitted onto the table from the window ledge and hopped across the maps. Unlike his crusty old father, he was young, yet also impatient.
Memlatec needs to get this moving along, thought Twiddle. This place offers little in the line of food for this high maintenance bird. I’m ready to get back to the wizard’s tower, where I can always find something tasty and crunchy crawling about.
“Get off the table, you pesky bird,” scolded the wizard, embarrassed at his little helper’s impertinence.
Woo! Twiddle thought. He hopped up just in time to evade Memlatec’s sweeping hand.
“It’s quite all right,” Saxthor said, stroking the little bird’s breast feathers. “His father saved my life more than once on the adventure. He’s granted the privilege of flitting about where he likes.” The king smiled at Twiddle, who looked up as if understanding and then looked indignantly at Memlatec. His little bobbing tail bounced as he hopped across the table and up onto the wizard’s shoulder.
Granted? Privilege? Twiddle wondered. Bobbing up and down faster, he watched Saxthor. Who does he think he is? I do as I please. He squatted, then bobbed some more.
Memlatec raised his hand in submission and then nodded at Twiddle, but the smiles quickly faded.
Seeing the look on their faces change, Twiddle flew back to the window. I guess they’ve seen my comment on Memlatec’s shoulder. We’ll be leaving soon.
“You rude bird!” Memlatec said. He winked at Saxthor. “How dare you leave your smart remarks on my shoulder?” Memlatec thumped the dropping at the bird and wiggled his nose to ensure it smacked the bird on his side.
“Come on then, I’d better take you home before we get thrown out of here by the cleaning staff.”
You’re making a mountain out of a little poop, Wizard.
Saxthor smiled at the exchange. “Thank you for coming to keep Memlatec in line, Twiddle.” The wren bobbed up and down as a child pressed by a call of nature.
“Keep me in line!” the wizard exclaimed in a rare moment of frustration. “That bird couldn’t keep Aleman in line.”
“Yes, well, Aleman is another matter entirely,” the king remarked, chuckling. “I suspect you’re challenge enough for one little bird.”
Challenge indeed, the old crank is a full time job. Twiddle flew down and landed on Delia’s head. Delia just curled her lip in a smile and wagged her tail at the bird’s attention. This musty old dog misses Pop, too. She tolerates me for his memory sake, Twiddle thought.
*
I like the flighty little bird, Delia thought. She strained looking up but couldn’t see the top of her head. The thought warmed her, and she wagged her tail. He has great potential when the impatience of adolescence wears off. Assuming it will wear off before someone swats that puffball.
*
Memlatec motioned Twiddle to his shoulder and, bowing to the king, withdrew to leave Saxthor to his councilors. Once outside, the wizard went to find Tournak, his assistant who moved freely between the palace and Memlatec’s tower, assisting both the king and the wizard. Reading the energy grid within the palace, Memlatec had no trouble finding his apprentice wizard for an assignment on the border.
* * *
Even with the lightened load, Earwig and Dreg were exhausted after two days of dragging the cart with little progress. They huffed and puffed with the cart creaking at the slightest movement. Wheezing, the witch turned from pushing to prop herself against the cart. She rolled her boot over pebbles on the road bed and kicked a rock off the roadside. “We’ll have to abandon the cart or find some draft animal to pull it.”
The Dreaddrac Onslaught (Book 4) Page 20