by A. E. Rayne
‘Form a line!’ came the familiar voice behind him.
And Aleksander turned to see Jael, Axl, and the Andalans lining up behind him. He didn’t have time to feel relieved as he forced his way through to join them. Without a working sword, he was not much use at all. But he would do what it took to keep those dragur behind their line.
‘Archers! Fire at will!’ Jael roared, lowering her arm in a signal to the men at the back who no longer had any fire arrows, but would surely be able to make a few holes in the dragur.
Though, looking at how many more creatures were coming, Aleksander doubted it would be enough.
The woman who sat with the books had dark hair. She was a young woman.
Familiar.
Eydis’ legs moved with urgency as she hurried towards her.
The woman sat at a table. Moonlight streamed through the window above her, and there was one lamp burning, though it gave off little light. It was enough for the woman to see by as she peered at one book before turning to make notes in the other.
Eydis ran around her, looking over her shoulder, needing to see what she was doing, feeling herself being pulled closer and closer.
The woman stopped writing and closed her eyes, then taking a deep breath and opening them, she dipped her quill into a jar of ink and started to draw a symbol.
As Eydis looked on.
Gant had too many problems to count.
They were out of fire arrows, and while they could tip burning braziers down onto the dragur, there were too many of their own men packed around the creatures, fighting to keep them away from the vulnerable piece of wall. Too many for the gods also, it seemed. No lightning shot into the tangle of dragur, Islanders, and Alekkans grappling in front of the ditch.
The gates were under assault at both ends of the fort too.
And as for the thickening mass of dragur coming over the hills...
Gant tried to think. Turning, he heard a screech and a scream, and he squinted, not wanting his suspicions confirmed. But then he saw them.
There were dragur inside the fort.
‘Oleg!’ he yelled down to the square where rows of archers were lined up behind the broken wall. ‘Oleg! The dragur are climbing the walls! Look out!’
But it was too late. The dragur were at the archers before they could turn around; one creature stabbing its sword in and out through Oleg’s back in a heartbeat.
‘Oleg!’
Jael’s torch was long, burning at both ends, and she spun it around, knowing that she had little strength left to use Toothpick anymore, but she had to do whatever she could to keep the dragur back. Her men were weakening from fighting against creatures who were twice as strong; who would not go down easily at all.
The lightning was infrequent now, the gods obviously struggling not to hit her men. It made little difference anyway, Jael realised.
They had run out of sea-fire.
The smell was overpowering, the smoke stinging Jael’s eyes as she spun her burning torch, jabbing it into the gaping mouth of the nearest dragur. It gurgled, stumbling backwards and as it fell, Jael was already turning, looking for her next target.
‘Jael!’ Aleksander screamed from somewhere in the smoky melee.
But it was too late; Jael was knocked to the ground.
Edela kept reading, running her finger down every page, but she was having no luck, and she could feel Biddy panicking beside her, listening with wide eyes as the screeching seemed to be getting closer.
Aedan poked his head around the door. ‘They’re in the fort now. I can hear them running.’ His voice was urgent, and Edela knew that he wanted to go and be with his wife and daughter; with Branwyn too.
‘Edela!’ Eydis shrieked as she burst out of her dream. She was sure it had been a dream; some sort of vision. Whatever it was, Eydis knew what to do. ‘Page twenty-seven! Try page twenty-seven!’
The wound in Thorgils’ head was trickling blood into his right eye, and it wouldn’t stop. He rubbed his eye again, trying to see. His ears worked fine, though, as Gant bellowed down to him.
‘Thorgils, come inside! The dragur are climbing the walls! Oleg is down! You need to lead his men!’
That squeezed Thorgils’ heart. He thought of Isaura, nodded to Ivaar, and turned to Fyn. ‘You’re with me,’ he growled, turning towards the men defending the broken wall. ‘Let me through!’ And grabbing a limping Fyn by the shoulder, he dragged him towards the ragged line of Islanders who were panting and coughing as they desperately fought to keep the dragur out.
Dropping into the ditch.
‘Climb the walls!’ Draguta roared. ‘Follow your friends and climb the walls! Get into the fort. I need that book now! Now!’
All thoughts of revenge and Jael Furyck were forgotten as Draguta watched her blue creatures pulling away from the fort’s defenders, heading for the walls.
They had to get to the book before it was too late.
Jael rolled over, her teeth slamming together as a dragur smashed her in the face. She had moved, but not in time and it had caught the side of her jaw. Everything went black, her ears ringing so loudly that she couldn’t hear the creature screeching at her, but she could smell it, and she could see flashes of it as it raised its fist to hit her again.
Something or someone had fallen on her legs.
She couldn’t move them.
‘Jael!’
She thought she could hear Aleksander again, but it was as though he was speaking underwater. As if she was underwater herself.
The fist came down, and Jael saw her daughter’s face, and quickly, blinking the black patches away, she wriggled, dragging her knife out of its scabbard and driving it into the dragur’s ear. It screamed and fell onto her, wrapping its hands around her neck.
The dragur were running faster now, urged on by Draguta’s cry. They could smell the book, and they ran down alleyways, in all different directions, needing to find it for her, their mistress. The one they were bound to.
Thorgils was gathering Oleg’s men in the square, but the dragur weren’t interested in attacking them now, they were running around them.
Towards the hall.
‘Fyn!’ Thorgils barked, grappling with a dragur who was as stocky as Rork Arnesson. The creature had both his arms and Thorgils couldn’t move as he tried to turn it around, fighting to escape. ‘Stop them!’
Aedan would not leave his grandmother’s porch because she was trying to save all of them. He tried not thinking about his father and brother. He thought instead of his mother and his wife. His daughter too. They would be hiding in their cottage, trying to stay safe, just as he needed to stay on the porch, keeping Edela safe.
And then he saw the first dragur appear, running down the dark road towards the cottage. They weren’t stopping, and Aedan had the immediate sense that they were looking for Edela and her book.
He slunk back into the shadows of the porch, though his torch was a flaming beacon to those dragur who quickly broke Edela’s gate, ripping it off its hinges as they ran, swaying from side to side, screeching at him.
All eight of them.
Aleksander had nothing left. His broken sword was gone. His knife too. Both of them knocked out of his hands, lost in the darkness. There were too many dragur swarming over them, and Aleksander had spent more time on the ground than on his feet. That’s where he was now, throwing himself on the back of the dragur who had its hands around Jael’s throat, her knife still sticking out of its ear.
Aleksander couldn’t move it, but he could see Jael trying to fight it off, her legs kicking like an angry horse under the rotting, blue corpse.
Suddenly Axl was there with the flaming torch Jael had lost when she’d been punched in the jaw. He jerked it at the creature, who quickly released his sister’s throat and backed away, scrambling to its feet.
And then Axl was knocked to the ground by a blow to the side of the head.
‘Axl!’ Aleksander cried, one arm out to Jael, dragging her to her fe
et as they pushed their way towards Axl, kneeling beside him.
As the dragur closed in around them.
Jael blinked at Aleksander, panting, drawing Toothpick from his scabbard again. Aleksander bent down to pick up the flaming torch, and they stood on either side of Axl as the dragur crept forward.
Aedan screamed, but it was quickly cut short as the long-armed creature ducked his torch, punching his injured ribs, knocking the air out of him, the rest of the dragur racing past Aedan to the cottage, smashing open the door.
Biddy shrieked, certain she’d wet herself as she held the burning torch out in front of her shaking body, praying to all the gods, old and new that Edela would hurry.
Edela was on her knees, Eydis beside her.
The symbol was drawn, the words were spoken, and Edela reached out both hers and Eydis’ hands towards the bloody symbol.
‘No!’ Biddy cried as two dragur jerked towards Edela; another one rushing for the book.
‘No!’ Aedan grunted, staggering into the cottage, his flaming torch in one hand, pain carved into his face. ‘Get away from her!’
Eydis panicked. She couldn’t see anything.
But she could smell the dragur; she could hear them too.
She could hear Biddy’s and Edela’s screams, and Aedan’s yelping as he tried to save them.
And then she felt a familiar hand. ‘Touch the symbol, Eydis! Put your hand down!’ Biddy panted. ‘Now! Aarrghh!’
And then Biddy was gone, but Eydis slammed her hand onto the floorboards, feeling the blood of the symbol, wet beneath her palm. And remembering the chant, she screamed it out loud as two enormous hands clamped around her neck.
‘Aarrghh!’ Jael yelled, dropping to her knees, bringing Toothpick across the waist of a dragur. And then he was down.
They were all down.
And suddenly the valley was silent.
Fyn limped back to Thorgils who was on the ground, a dragur lying on top of him. Thorgils’ eyes were closed, and Fyn panicked. ‘Thorgils! Thorgils!’ he cried, trying to drag the motionless creature away.
The dragur were all motionless, lying scattered around the dark square, fires burning in the distance. Smoke everywhere.
‘Thorgils!’
Thorgils opened his eyes, grimacing. ‘You don’t need to yell,’ he rasped, helping Fyn roll the dragur off him. Looking around he blinked in surprise at the bodies strewn around the square. ‘What happened to them?’
Fyn shrugged as a thought popped into his head. ‘I think it was Edela. Eydis or Edela.’ A weary smile broke out on his battered face. ‘I think they saved us.’
Draguta trembled with rage, her hands on either side of her seeing circle, her eyes closed. She didn’t want to watch the blazing bonfire consume her dead dragur. She didn’t want to see the smug smiles of the victors as they picked through the wreckage of bodies.
Victors of what?
This little battle?
‘You may have won. Tonight, you may have won,’ she growled, her voice like a roll of thunder. ‘But I promise you, it is I who will win the war!’
Jael didn’t want to move. She dropped to the ground, on her knees, panting, her head pounding as it hung. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t hear. Couldn’t feel any part of her body.
Axl had moaned and was moving beside her. Aleksander was trying to help him sit up.
‘What happened?’ Axl wondered, trying to shake himself awake, the stabbing pain in his head immediately demanding. He saw the dragur lying in heaping mounds around them, their men staggering to their feet, shaking their heads too. ‘What happened?’
Aleksander smiled wearily, reaching out a hand. ‘Once we crawl back to the fort we might find out, though I’ve a feeling we have a couple of dreamers to thank.’
Jael lay on the ground, staring up at the dark sky, trying not to inhale the stench of the burning dragur and the sea-fire smoke; trying not to think about whether she would ever feel her hands again. ‘Perhaps you could send a cart for me? I don’t think I could even crawl!’
21
Jaeger turned as Meena walked to the window where he had been standing for some time, looking down at the harbour. It was just past dawn, and she was surprised to see him already out of bed. Dressed too.
She frowned.
‘What happened to your neck?’ Jaeger wondered.
He sounded barely curious, Meena thought, the memories of her dream slamming back into her head. Her eyes widened, and she blinked at Jaeger. ‘What’s wrong with it?’ She felt around with her hand, but nothing hurt.
‘You have bruises,’ he said, pointing to the discoloured rings around her throat. ‘A lot of them. Something you’re doing in your sleep? Wrestling wild boar perhaps?’ His eyes were almost warm; their usual fiery intensity gone.
Meena shook her head. ‘No, it’s, I... Morana. She’s becoming more herself. Fighting me.’
Jaeger looked almost surprised, but it faded quickly. He turned back to the window, his eyes on the slowly growing piers. ‘I think I’ll spend the day down at the harbour. See how the fleet is coming along. We’re going to need those ships soon, aren’t we?’
‘Are we?’
Jaeger shook his head, trying to clear the strange haze that was cloaking his thoughts. ‘Yes, I think so. Now, get dressed so we can head down to breakfast. I’m starving.’ And he carried on staring at the harbour as if in a dream.
There were a lot of bruises. A lot of bleeding and broken limbs. A lot of dead bodies too.
Jael felt numb to it all as she walked away from the hall, through the thick cloud of smoke which had sunk down into the fort now. She had been with Branwyn, Aedan, and Kayla since they’d returned from the valley, and now it was time to check on her men. To check on the fort. To see how quickly they could retrieve all the arrows. Bring back the catapults. Make more sea-fire. Finish the wall. But first, Jael wanted to see how Entorp and his patients were.
Edela and Eydis came with her.
Edela was shaken, riddled with guilt over what had happened to Kormac. Broken-hearted by Aron’s death. She couldn’t let herself feel any relief at all. She kept seeing Kormac and Aron before they had disappeared into the sacred grove; wishing she had seen the danger coming.
‘Jael!’ Aleksander called as he hurried after them, winding his way through the steadily growing piles of dragur corpses, his throat burning from the smoke. ‘Wait!’ As much as he felt reluctant to go with her, his boots kept moving him forward, and he knew there was a part of him that was desperate to know the truth.
Edela turned as Aleksander caught up to them, and he took her arm as she stumbled, bringing her close. ‘I’ve got you,’ he smiled as they carried on towards the newly erected tent village which Entorp had moved his patients into.
Edela barely noticed he was there as she followed behind Jael and Eydis, but every soft thud of her boots echoed in her head. She was worried more than anything that she hadn’t finished the curse-breaking ritual; that she hadn’t done it with the precision required; that Kormac and Aron had given their lives for nothing. Just a mistake.
They shouldn’t have been there.
She shouldn’t have been there.
But then Entorp emerged from a tent, rubbing his eyes as the morning sun lit up the smoky square.
And he was smiling.
Evaine didn’t want to leave Eadmund’s bed, but Eadmund was already dressed and heading for the door.
‘I can’t stay,’ he smiled, his eyes full of regret. ‘Rollo will be banging on the door if I’m not in that training ring early.’
Evaine was tired and annoyed that she was losing him so quickly. After all she had done to get to Flane? And now he was just leaving? She huffed and pouted, but it made no difference as Eadmund turned away, grabbing the door handle. ‘Eadmund, wait!’ Evaine rushed out of bed, naked, wanting to feel him one more time. ‘Please, don’t go. I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to be stuck with Draguta again.’
Eadmund bent
down and kissed her, feeling the intense pull of her, but the pull of Draguta was now stronger, and he knew that he needed to be in that training ring. He wanted to keep her happy. ‘Come and watch me when you’re dressed,’ he smiled. ‘I’ll try not to embarrass myself too much.’ And after one more kiss, he disappeared through the door.
Evaine watched him go feeling oddly unsatisfied. He was hers. They had spent a long and blissful, sleepless night together, but it wasn’t enough.
After all this time of wanting Eadmund and having to share him with his drinking, and his wife, and now... Draguta?
Evaine wasn’t happy at all.
‘It was magic,’ Karsten explained, leaning over Nicolene. ‘Apparently, a woman put a curse on everyone. The new Queen of Helsabor herself. A real bitch, it seems.’
Nicolene didn’t look any less confused, but she did suddenly glance around the tent. ‘The children?’ she croaked, coughing. Karsten smelled of smoke. Of something worse than smoke. The whole tent did. ‘Where are the children?’
‘With Bayla,’ Karsten said. ‘The toughest Dragos of all. Not even a curse could touch her!’ He tried smiling, but his face ached, and Nicolene was looking at him with such an intense frown that eventually he gave up, glancing over at Berard who was with Hanna, eager to know how she was.
Berard watched as Marcus brushed Hanna’s lank hair away from her face, smoothing his hand over her forehead, hoping to see some life in her. Everyone else was opening their eyes, but not Hanna.