“I’m getting too old for these kinds of heroics,” Father Moram said, clutching Cedric’s arm. “And so are you,” he added, offering the baron a faint smile.
Somewhere in the distance, against all probability or common sense, a cock crowed and the sky, which had been growing lighter by degrees, suddenly blazed with the dawn. Threads of pale morning light spilled across the bulwark of the castle walls revealing a scene of horror and destruction.
The people of Nachtwald, soldiers, farmers, and noblemen alike, all that remained of that once proud city, crowded together. They stood with their backs to the great hall and the castle keep rising above them on their right. The dawn was a gift to them all, for during the past few hours none of them had expected to see the birth of a new day ever again. The morning sun was a beacon of hope and possibility. The wyvern was defeated and the orc warlord dead. And yet his army remained. Some hundreds or even thousands of them still occupied the city, and a fair number of these were arrayed against them inside the castle walls. Their warlord’s defeat and the slaying of the wyvern had unmanned them, shocked and frightened them, but the fear and uncertainty were fading. In fact, the reality of what had happened was growing in their minds and it made them even angrier than before. They snarled and gnashed their teeth, beating their swords on their shields.
A bow-legged orc pushed through the ranks, walking over to where Durog’s body lay cooling in the mud. He reached down and picked up the two-handed sword, raising it above his head.
“I am Golfim of Clan Red Claw!” the orc shouted. Snarls and angry growls acknowledged this statement.
“You all know me. You know that Durog chose me for his second. He’s dead, murdered by these filthy humans...” The horde seethed, ready to leap forward and rend flesh. “...but there is still a treasure to be won here. The city is ours. All that stands between us and the riches Durog promised is this puny band of fools. I say we finish what we started.” The horde howled in agreement, shaking their weapons in the air and stamping their feet.
Ren stepped from the shadows, pale and ghostlike, a phantom appearing out of the memory of a terror-filled night into the light of a new day. Father Moram left Cedric with the Briar Knights and moved to intercede, the priest’s face etched with worry and concern for his young charge. The crowd instinctively parted, pulling back to allow the boy passage, gazing at Ren with a sense of wonder. In the sunlight, the boy’s skin glowed with a golden hue. He walked so softly that his sandaled feet did not seem to touch the ground and his face held a look of serenity and unconcern. He looked at Father Moram, his eyes communicating without words that the priest should not interfere, not this time. Father Moram hesitated and then fell back a step, letting Ren walk past him. The boy made his way to the middle of the ward and stood facing the enraged army of goblins and orcs, who watched him with curious eyes.
* * *
The boy’s appearance gave the angry horde pause and their snarls and curses faltered. They lowered their weapons and stared, confused by the boy’s inexplicable calm and lack of fear. What did this stupid child think it was doing, marching into the middle of their slaughter and interrupting their fun?
Golfim spat on the ground and punched the orcs nearest him for good measure, cursing them for weaklings and simpletons. He marched straight at the boy, the two-handed sword raised to cut the little urchin in twain, but the cruel blow never fell.
Golfim stood over the boy, the sword poised above his head, but for some reason, he could not bring it down. His limbs refused to respond and the hilt of the sword trembled in his hands. Something in the boy’s eyes held him. There was warmth there, like a mother’s embrace, soft and tender, yet strong and fiercely protective. Golfim’s own mother had never held him like that, never soothed his hurts. She had cursed him and kicked him. She had beaten him into submission and forced him to do all manner of heinous deeds, until he was old enough and strong enough to leave her den and strike off on his own. Golfim had never known real friendship or tenderness, or love, never in all of his existence. The absence of these emotions suddenly filled him, swelling up inside his breast, spilling forth like water over a broken dike. The orc’s eyes filled with tears and he was suddenly sobbing uncontrollably, wailing with grief so profound that he could not bear it. The sword fell from Golfim’s hands and the orc turned, stumbling away. He pushed his way through ranks of his stunned and confused fellows and ran for the city’s gate wanting nothing more than to escape the look in the boy’s eyes.
The light that surrounded Ren grew brighter, a golden aura more brilliant than the morning sun. It surrounded him, enveloping his small form, expanding, cascading out from him, filling the courtyard, then the castle, then spreading out across the entire city. It grew exponentially, swift as sunlight on water. It touched everyone, every creature inside the walls of Nachtwald, and every beast that roamed in the fields beyond. Everyone and everything it touched felt its power, the infinite power of love and compassion. For many this was a boon, a gift that warmed them and comforted them, that restored their courage and their strength. For others it was a lance through the heart, bringing back memories of pain and suffering, causing them to relive every misdeed ever done to them, to remember every crime committed, every life taken, every horror ever perpetrated on another living thing. For those so afflicted, the guilt and remorse of those events was magnified a hundred fold, and the agony and pain they suffered was far greater than anything they had ever inflicted. The entire host of goblins and orcs, all that remained of Durog’s army, was consumed by their own cruelty. They howled and whined, cursed and wept. They threw down their swords, axes, and spears, flung away their shields and knives. They rent their clothes and cast off their armor. Some flung themselves into the Alleg and were drowned. Some leapt from walls and towers, to be broken on the stones below, but most of them just ran. They fled the city, flying in all directions, to the woods and hills that lay outside the walls of Nachtwald, desperate to escape this one small golden child.
* * *
Blayde wiped her sword clean on the tunic of a fallen orc and then sheathed it. The battle was over. Nachtwald was saved. Well, mostly. Many had died during the night, and three-quarters of the city had burned to the ground. But the castle still stood, and some few houses had survived the conflagration. More importantly, the people remained, the brave souls who had withstood the onslaught. They still lived and would be telling stories of this night for years to come.
The light that surrounded the boy was fading, dwindling to a soft warm glow, and then he was just a boy again, small and unobtrusive. He turned to look at her with a faint smile on his lips. She went to him and knelt down in front of him, looking into his eyes. Those eyes were the color of newly minted gold, warm and bright.
“So, you’re the Golden Phial.”
The boy shrugged his shoulders and his smile widened. He leaned forward and gave Blayde a hug, wrapping his arms around her neck as he pressed his face against her cheek. Blayde hugged him back. She closed her eyes and shed a tear for all that was lost, but at the same time, she breathed a sigh of relief for all that had been won.
Chapter 31
Blayde and Rayzer entered the great hall of Nachtwald castle. Despite the battle fought before its doors, the hall looked much the same as the first time she had seen it. Sunlight streamed down through the tall windows and dust motes danced in the still air. There was a dark spot on the floor where Sir Eris had fallen, and an old washerwoman was on her hands and knees with a bucket and a brush, busily trying to remove the stain. Otherwise all was as before. Baron Cedric was seated in his high chair at the end of the hall, fully recovered now from his injuries and looking as ferocious as ever.
A tall figure in tattered clothing, which must once have been colorful and fine, stood before the lord of the city, speaking in a clear, melodious voice. Blayde realized, after a moment of staring at him, that it was her brother Loth. Her heart leapt in her chest at the sight of him, but the mood in the hall was
solemn, and the exclamation of joy that had been poised on her lips, died ere she could give it voice.
A pair of guardsmen, dressed in the purple and gold of Nachtwald, stood to either side of the dais upon which their lord’s chair rested. Blayde recognized the men, having seen them more than once during the battle with the orcs, but could not recall their names. Cedric leaned forward in his chair, listening with rapt attention as Loth spoke.
“...we reached the great summoning chamber in the upper halls and there found the sorceress had already begun her ritual. Jankayla slaughtered a hundred innocent souls, men and women taken from the villages that the orcs attacked, using their blood to fuel her spell. The villagers were already dead when we arrived and beyond our help.”
Blayde moved close enough that she could hear her brother’s tale but no farther. Rayzer stood beside her. He folded his arms across his naked chest, his face betraying nothing, but Blayde knew he was as interested as she was. She could not help but notice that Loth was alone, that Ander and the young lordlings, Finn and Portia, were not with him.
“She was guarded by a dozen Warchod and goblin archers with poison-tipped arrows. It was a desperate battle, my lord, and your children fought bravely. If not for Portia’s magic, we would not have made it through.”
At the mention of Portia’s magic, Baron Cedric grimaced and ground his teeth together but did not interrupt. He kept his eyes fixed on Loth.
“The sorceress had a servant with her, a wizard. He was a foul creature. The wizard protected his mistress with single-minded purpose, and I could not reach her nor prevent what she was doing. None of us could. Finn attempted to slay the sorceress—he was very brave, my lord—but he was no match for her. Jankayla succeeded in summoning Ashendraugnir. Ander and Portia did battle with the beast. Together they were mighty, but a dragon is difficult to overcome. In the end—” Loth paused, his jaw tightening, and his fists clenching. “In the end Ander fell into the darkness. He is gone.”
Blayde and Rayzer looked at each other. Ander gone? How was that possible? He was human, of course, hopelessly flawed and a constant annoyance. But he had been their traveling companion for quite some time and a brave fellow despite all that. Blayde felt a slight twinge in her chest, but she swallowed the emotion and said nothing.
“And my children?” Cedric grew impatient. “What of my children? What of Finn and Portia?”
Loth raised his eyes to look at Baron Cedric, and then lowered his gaze once more, staring at the floor. “They too are gone, my lord. I could not protect them, I—”
Baron Cedric sat back in his chair as if he had been struck a blow. He gripped the chair’s arms with such force that Blayde thought he might crush the wood beneath his fingers.
“Our quest was a failure,” Loth still gazed at the stones beneath his feet. “Despite our efforts Jankayla was successful in her dark purpose. Ashendraugnir is reborn. Using some foul magic I have never encountered before, she was able to summon him back from Tironed-dum. Now, the dragon is free and all of Arkirius, all of Ninavar for that matter, is in danger.”
“Portia.” Cedric’s voice cracked. “My darling girl.” And then he leaned forward and placed his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking.
“My lord, I am more to blame for the loss of your children than anyone. It is true that Ander and I tried to discourage them, but, pardon my saying, they were quite willful and would not listen to good advice.”
Cedric turned his hot gaze on Loth, but the fury in his eyes was already fading, replaced once more by grief. “Aye, that they were, the both of them.” The baron wiped tears from his face with the back of his hand. He slumped down in his chair and took a steadying breath.
Blayde waited, and when no one moved or spoke, she cleared her throat and took a step forward. “My lord, I wish to offer my, er, I should say, our sorrow.” She clapped Rayzer on the shoulder. “For your loss. It is a dark day, indeed.”
Baron Cedric lifted his gaze, appearing to see her for the first time. Loth half turned, his gaze falling on his younger siblings, and a smile spread across his face.
“My pardon. Please come forward,” the baron said.
Blayde and Rayzer moved to the foot of the dais. Loth turned to them, grabbing both of them by the back of their necks and looking at them as if it was their first meeting.
“I may not have found the Rindaya, but it was a blessed day when I found you two.”
“If you’re going to get all melancholy,” Rayzer looked as if he had swallowed a lemon, “then I’m going back out to the woods.”
“He doesn’t mean it,” Blayde said.
“I do,” Rayzer insisted.
“Ander,” Blayde asked, “is he...?” her words trailed away to silence.
“Later,” Loth said. “Later I will tell the story in full, but it is not a happy tale.”
“I understand,” Baron Cedric interrupted, “that I have you to thank for saving my city and my people. It was you who took command of the city when Sir Eris fell, and it was you who discovered the traitors in our midst.”
“Yes, my lord,” Blayde said. “With a little help,” she added softly. She could no longer feel Sir Veryan’s presence. The ghostly knight must surely have returned to his rest, to the unearthly realm where she first encountered him. But the power contained in his sword and armor remained and for that she was grateful.
“However, it was Ren who actually saved everyone. I did what I could to defend the city, true, but I had a good deal of help. The Briar Knights, for instance, and Father Moram—”
“Yes, yes.” Cedric waved away her arguments. “I know all that. The Golden Phial in my city? I would never have guessed such a thing. But it was you who held everyone together through that long night while I lay dying in my bed...” he paused. “It appears I am forever doomed to be surrounded by death.” He closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. “Many have lost those dear to them. I am not alone in that. But you must have a reward for your efforts. I have little enough to give, but what I do have is yours for the asking. Name it and it will be so.”
Blayde was momentarily at a loss. She had not even considered a reward, and the offer was a surprise to her. “I, uh,” she stammered. “I have the sword and the armor.” She touched the polished steel.
“And you’re welcome to them. There are enough bloody ghosts walking these halls already, but there must be something else you want, surely.”
Blayde looked around the hall. She looked at Loth and then at Rayzer, who arched an eyebrow at her, his eyes full of mischief. Blayde thought for a moment. She looked at Loth again, and then made her decision.
“We’ll need three horses, with suitable tack and gear, and enough coin, food, and water to get us to the Arkirian-Briganthan border.” She picked up a fold of Loth’s tattered cloak. “And, we’ll need some new clothes for my brother, the finest you can spare.”
Loth beamed at her. It was a small concession for all that he had been through, for what they had all been through, but it was enough to get them to Briganthan so they could continue their search for the Rindaya.
“Done and done,” Cedric said. “Now, get out, all of you. I want an hour of peace at the very least.”
* * *
In the ward outside, the sun was shining and the day was fair. Stonemasons were busy working on the curtain wall that had partially collapsed when the wyvern had slammed into it during its death throes. A black stain remained where the beast had fallen. On the other side of the ward, engineers were working to restore the gate and portcullis. The bodies of the orcs who had died there had been hauled away, taken out to the fields beyond the Barleyrow to be buried in a mass grave.
“Well,” Loth said after a moment, “of all the deeds I have done in the past week, that was by far the hardest.”
“You should have been here then,” Rayzer said.
Loth took a deep breath. “I wish I had been, truly.”
“That was very cruel of you,” Blayde said, �
�I would not have thought you capable of such deceit.”
Loth paused to stare at his sister. “Why whatever do you mean?”
“What? You don’t think I know when you’re lying? You said Portia and Finn were gone. You did not say they were dead. But that is what Baron Cedric believes, and now he must bear the grief of that loss along with everything else. I have to wonder why you would do something so unkind.”
Loth gave her a guilty smile. “If Baron Cedric believed that his children were still alive, would he not desire their return? After all, Finn is his only heir. Although I cannot help but notice that it was Portia alone for whom he wept. And what of her? Would he not think again of her marriage to whatever lord he thought fit? What would her future be like if she was still alive and in his power? If Baron Cedric thought that his children were somewhere out there,” he made a vague gesture toward the horizon, “would he not extend all of his power to find them?”
“He would. He would not rest until they were found.”
Loth ran a hand through his long hair. “You may think me cruel, but I have done no more than was asked of me.”
“What about the potential for war between Nachtwald and Anhalth? All that could be prevented by a union between Portia and Guthmundus’ son. In its weakened state I doubt Nachtwald can prevail should Anhalth decide to start a war.”
“Nothing unites people like a common enemy,” Loth said, “and the greatest dragon ever spawned is loose in Arkirius. Jankayla resurrected Ashendraugnir for some dark purpose. I have no doubt that they will strike soon. The only question is where.”
“Why do you think I asked for horses and gear to get us to the Briganthan border?” Blayde said.
Loth clapped her on the shoulder. “I’m glad to see that you are finally starting to think ahead. Now then, where do we find that tailor?”
* * *
A Way with Magic (The Draakonor Chronicles Book 1) Page 38