“They probably went away inland,” Jeon said. “They will come back. They belong here. They’re only frightened. But they live here.” As he spoke, a raw heat brightened in him, for their sake, a rage at what had happened here.
Oto laughed. “I did. I frightened them, burning their tree. Yet I miss the meat pies.”
“Easy enough to make. Come down here and let me show you something.”
They rode up to the kicker by the cypress stump. The soldiers at once bowed and swung their hats, and Oto gave them a few salutes. Jeon dismounted from his horse and let the reins trail. Glancing out across the bay, he looked to see if the third kicker was in place, and saw the men there all running up the ridge at once.
Oto said, “Yes, get on with it.”
Jeon faced him. “Stencop came to me yesterday and got me down here to help him set up the kickers. He agrees with me that we have a high chance of seeing the pirates soon, and he put the kickers around so.” Jeon pointed to this one, and then down the beach to the next, and then across the bay to the one on the opposite shore.
“This was his idea, setting them up this way. I thought it odd not to put all the kickers together at the best place to defend the channel. But look.” He moved behind the one and sighted down the long horizontal side of the kicker toward the castle.
Oto said, “I think you’re mad, anyway. The pirates will not attack such a strong position as this.” He swung down from his horse. “Especially with a fleet here.”
“What fleet? Two ships?” Jeon stood back, and Oto stooped to look along the side of the kicker.
“And?”
Jeon pushed the little brake lever, and the big machine turned of its own weight. The far corner of the long edge, like a sight, slid across the surf, then the sand, and finally came to rest aimed directly at the brewery.
Oto straightened, his face rigid. “What are you trying to say, Prince?”
Jeon shrugged. “You mentioned secret orders?”
Oto glared at him. His beard was scraggly and his coat hung open and as he stood there he lifted one arm and flapped the coat to cool himself. He said, slowly, as if he thought it all out as he spoke, “Well, then, I think it’s time for me to take command, isn’t it.”
“My lord,” Jeon said, and bowed.
“Call Stencop to me,” Oto said. “We shall hold council.” He mounted his horse, and rode slowly away down the beach toward the brewery. Halfway there, he turned and looked back at the kicker. His hand went to his belt. Jeon went off to find Stencop.
* * *
Oto knew how to manage this: he fisted his hands together on the table, and stared across at Stencop. “I am the King. You deployed the kickers in an odd way, and I feel the need to take control.”
“That was—” Stencop shut his mouth. His gaze licked sideways, toward Prince Jeon sitting off behind Oto. His eyes on Oto again, Stencop said, “As you wish. My lord. Do you want to move them?”
Oto paused only a moment, thinking this over. He said, “This supposed attack will occur tomorrow. If it fails to appear we shall move them, yes. But for now. I will command. You, my lord,” Oto said, nodding at Stencop, “will command the position down the beach. The kicker on the far side of the bay—”
“Not him,” Stencop said, clipped. He gave another fierce stare down at Jeon, who obviously had advised him on the placement of the kickers. Oto sat back, smiling. He had seen through the boy’s designs again. Oto resisted the urge to throw a look of triumph over his shoulder.
He said, “Prince Jeon will attend you. I’ll put the company sergeant in charge of the kicker across the bay. The army can remain in camp, so close on the beach as they are, summoned as needed. We’ll post a sentry at the mouth of the bay.”
“Very well,” Stencop said, and rose, ponderous. He swept the whole beach with his look.”Where have all the people gone?”
“Out of reach of the pirates,” Oto said. “They’ll come back.” He reached for his cup, but it was empty. Stencop was moving away, Jeon after him, but staying a good way behind. Oto almost laughed. He had made enemies of his enemies. Yet his cup was still empty. In the midst of his triumphs it was galling that he suffered such a constant want of service. He put the cup down with a thud.
* * *
Stencop said, “I would chain you to the kicker, if you would not get in the way.”
Jeon avoided Stencop’s eyes, and looked instead out across the mild waters of the bay. Nothing in this was going as he wished. He moved down toward the beach a few steps and Stencop said sharply, “Stand.” With a crook of his finger he beckoned one of his ensigns. “Watch him.” Stencop gave Jeon another fierce glare and turned to another waiting officer.
“Send the second watch officer down to the end of the beach, where he can see anything that approaches—give him a good horn. Tell him on his life to stay awake.”
“Yes, sir! Glory!”
“Glory. Send me the troop commander.”
“Glory!”
Stencop grunted, and tramped up behind Jeon again, and shouted, “You will stay here, guarded, until this is over! Then we—the King and I—shall discuss how to deal with you.” Stencop fell still, his breath harsh. “I am going to my quarters. Watch him.” Stencop stalked off down the beach. The ensign beside Jeon crossed his arms over his chest. Jeon sat down on the sand, watching the sea.
* * *
Tirza woke just before dawn, when the sound of the water changed.
She was curled up below the overhang of the dune, ten feet above the edge of the bay, across the water from the stump of the cypress tree. All night, the waves, broken to chop as they fought their way through the narrows, had slapped and rippled along the pebble beach, but now the water was rising in long swells that dropped hard on the sand. Something big was moving into the bay.
She sprang up. Beyond the cliff the eastern sky shone pale as shell. In the blackness overhead the stars were going out. She ran down to the beach, and out there, on the flat, dark water, she saw the darker shape moving down the channel.
At the tip of the Jawbone, a horn blared.
She saw his head rise up into the air, the great, flared lizard head, and she screamed. “It’s a trap! Go back! Go back!”
He heard her; his head turned, and the horn blared again. From down the Jawbone, where the kicker was, came shouting. The horn was blasting, over and over. A thin whistle cut through the metallic shriek, coming closer. “Go back!” she screamed, again, and out there he sank beneath the water, and suddenly an enormous rolling ball of flame burst like a little sun in the center of the channel.
The boom rolled toward her, and the shock blew her backward hard onto her bottom on the sand. She flung herself facedown. Another thunderous crash, and then another almost at once, and a wash of heat blew across her back. A stench like dead things. Suddenly she was being pelted with falling ash and burning things and water, pounding on her like hail. She leapt up, her arms over her head, looking toward the channel.
The air was thick with smoke and dirt. Huge surf was smashing up on the beach and slopping up around her feet. A long, hollow crash still resounded, on and on, echoing off the cliff. The sun was tipping over the edge of the land, and the sky turning white, but the bay was a cauldron of dark rolling smoke and sound.
She ran down the beach, her teeth gritted together. Ahead, she saw the men at the kicker there, busy cranking the tongue backward, two of them carrying up the ball, to load it again, to shoot again. The sergeant stood there, watching. She stopped and got a rock and hurled it. Ran on. The sergeant heard her coming, and he shouted. The others stopped, twisting around to look. She stopped and scrabbled for rocks on the beach and, finding nothing but weed, bits of wood, threw that, shrieking in rage and terror. The sergeant was racing toward her, two of the others a step behind. She cocked back her arm to throw a handful of sea drift, and then, behind them, out of the bay just below the kicker, the head of the dragon rose, blazing red in the glare of the new sun.
* * *
Oto’s horse reared, and he fought it to a standstill, his gaze directed across the water. The horn had brought him out of the brewery, and he had seen nothing, only the crew working the kicker, and then the wonderful explosions. Roiling black smoke hid the water from him, but he knew nothing could have endured that. He bellowed, “Victory!” The horse bounded again, its neck black with sweat. Bits of dirt and embers still floated in the air. The men around him were cheering and clapping themselves on the back.
He turned down the beach, toward Stencop’s place. “Victory!” he roared again, and galloped down the beach, to make sure Stencop recognized whose victory this was.
* * *
The army was still rushing out of its camp, gathering in ranks along the high side of the beach. Stencop stalked around yelling orders. Jeon had not moved all night, the ensign stoically standing guard all the while, but now the ensign was shouting and throwing his fists in the air like everybody else. Jeon went down to the edge of the surf, where the black wave beat hard on the sand, and stared down toward the channel.
He thought, What was that? What was that?
Under the seething cloud of steam and smoke the surface of the bay still quaked; all around him steaming drops of water rained down. Behind him the cheering went on, and down where the cypress had been those men were whooping and celebrating also. Oto on his horse was galloping toward them along the beach. The sun was coming over the cliff top, the air suddenly warm. Jeon stared across the water, trying to make out what it was he had just seen.
Just behind him, Stencop said, “Well, you were right about that, anyway.” He lifted his voice, heavy with command. “Good kill. Reload.”
Jeon did not move. He did not think this was over. He had seen something out there, before the first bombs struck. Something not a ship. He strained his eyes for signs of wreckage in the rocking, empty water.
Then from across the bay, over on the Jawbone, where that third kicker was, a blinding light flashed, a rumbling explosion rose to a thunder, and another fireball billowed up into the air.
The Imperials’ buoyant cheering died away. Stencop turned his head. “What is happening?”
This explosion had raised more dust and smoke, a great cloud that rolled across the bay toward them, hiding the Jawbone from sight. Jeon gawked at it. He thought suddenly of Tirza, out there somewhere.
Then through the masking cloud a dark mass appeared, hurtling toward him.
He went rapidly backward, up beside the kicker. The sun was full risen now. The surf began to roll up hard on the beach. The wind harshened. Out of the cloud before Jeon charged something red as a fire and bigger than a house. It had horns, it had enormous eyes, and it was coming straight at him.
Stencop was roaring, “Stand! Stand! Glory to the Empire! Kill!” He drew the saber from his belt and thrust it overhead, and from all the army came a single scream.
“Glory!”
The men by the kicker had winched the neck back double. Pacing up and down beside them, Stencop waved his sword. “Point-blank! Straight ahead!” Two soldiers hauled up the round bomb, glistening, while two others worked to aim it.
Jeon thought nothing: as they slid the bomb into the basket, he took one step forward and kicked the winch handle.
The winch spun. The kicker’s neck snapped straight up, and the whole frame bucked, knocking the soldiers there flying. Stencop bellowed, furious. The screeching bomb flew off into the air, far out over the bay. The monster had reached the shallows, was charging in sheets of spray up toward the beach. It opened its jaws and blasted out a long flame, bright green even in the daylight. Jeon threw his arm up to shield his face. Around him, the soldiers were rushing up into a rank along the beach, their knives in their hands. Off in the middle of the bay, the last bomb exploded, harmless.
Closer, Stencop roared in Jeon’s ears. Stencop’s hand fisted in Jeon’s hair, and Stencop shoved his sword into Jeon’s face.
“So! So, all along! Die, then— Down there—” Stencop propelled Jeon forward toward the bay, ahead of all the screaming soldiers, toward the beast wading up through the surf. “You first!”
Jeon resisted, his arms out, his head tipped back; the dragon swung toward him. Even in his terror, he saw it was magnificent. Stencop’s sword jabbed him in the back. “Death— Glory—” Jeon had nowhere to go but forward and he ran forward, out of Stencop’s grip, up beneath the eyes of the dragon.
It crouched above him, massive and glistening. One eye fixed on him. He saw his face mirrored in the enormous curve. Then the dragon opened its jaws again and lunged, and its teeth fastened on Stencop.
Jeon backpedaled, away, back into the midst of the soldiers. Howling, they were rushing in to hack at the great scaled shoulders of the beast, and behind them all, safe up at the top of the beach, Oto galloped up and down, waving his sword over his head and bellowing, “Fight! Fight!” The dragon struck again, taking a mouthful of Imperials. Its neck was bleeding. Jeon worked his way steadily through the pack of men up the beach toward Oto. As Jeon passed, some of the soldiers were slacking off, looking around, their hands with their knives falling to their sides.
“Get the eyes!” Oto screamed. “Attack its eyes!”
The fiery blast licked out again, and the kicker burst into flame. With a sweep of its head the dragon knocked a dozen burning soldiers across the beach. The rest were shrinking back, their voices wailing now, not cheering. Oto spurred his horse up to rally them. “Glory, you fools, you cowards! Glory!” That brought him within reach and Jeon sprang.
He got Oto by one arm, and swung his weight against him, trying to drag him out of the saddle; the horse lurched. Oto wrenched it back on its hocks, brought his sword around, and struck Jeon across the head with the hilt. Dizzy, Jeon lost his grip and fell on his back. The tip of the sword sliced at his head, and above him Oto reined his horse around to trample him.
Jeon rolled to his knees, dodging the blade; his head was still muzzy, but he saw Oto before him. With all his weight Jeon lunged against the horse’s shoulder. Flailing out with one hand, he caught and gripped a rein. Oto slashed down the blade and Jeon leapt back again, yanking on the rein, and that brought the horse’s head around and the sword bit deep into its neck.
The horse reared up, screaming, spraying blood through the air. The sword sailed off. Jeon ran to pick it up. All around him the Imperials were running back up the beach, headed for the cliff, turning their backs on the dragon. The horse crumpled to its knees, Oto still in the saddle, there right before Jeon, and he drew the sword back and ran it into Oto’s body.
Jeon had never killed anyone before. He was surprised at how easy it was. The soldiers had fled away, back into the shelter of the cliff, but there were bodies and bits of bodies all over the sand, and now one of them was Oto’s.
The beach trembled under the footsteps of the dragon. Jeon stood where he was, unafraid. The great beast stalked past him, gave him a single gleaming look, and dragged itself down toward the bay. Its shoulders and sides were slashed, its long neck torn, there were long slick wounds like burns on its back, and even so it was splendid.
Then Jeon saw his sister running around the rim of beach that led from the Jawbone.
Her red hair flew. She was tattered and barefoot, her arm bruised, her face dirty. He shouted her name, and her head turned toward him, but she ran straight on, up toward where the dragon slouched, alone on the wide beach, bleeding from a hundred wounds.
The dragon swung its great head toward her; where its blood pooled on the sand it burned like coal fire. Tirza went right up before it, and it lowered its face to her. Jeon realized that she was speaking to it. He went up close enough to hear her voice, and then the beast answered her.
A shudder of despair went through Jeon. He stood watching his sister and the creature she had conjured from the sea, and wondered what he could do now.
* * *
Tirza said, “You came.”
The dragon said, “I
have searched for you since you left. I meant to devour you, because you abandoned me. But you saved me. If you had not warned me I would have died. And I remember the stories.”
“I have more stories,” she said. “And you are hurt. Let me help you.”
“I am grievous hurt. I don’t think you can help me.” He was turning back toward the sea, his gaze leaving her. She put her arms out to him.
“Take me with you.”
He turned his enormous eyes on her again. “I do not know where these wounds and the sea will take me.”
“Tirza,” her brother said.
She twisted her head toward him; he had come down close behind her. He stood there, his arms at his sides and his eyes blazing.
“Tirza, see? I’ve won. Oto is dead. Stencop is dead. I’ve avenged everybody. I have taken Castle Ocean back.” He put out his hand, and his fingers closed on her wrist. His hand was slick with blood. He said, “I have done everything for your sake.”
She shook her head. If this was even true it made no difference. Yet her heart quaked, and his bloody hand held her fast.
His gaze burnt into her. He said, “Keep faith with me, Tirza.”
That broke the spell, and she laughed. “That’s a curse, Jeon. Not a blessing.” He did not understand what she said. He would never understand her. But she had defied one curse and she could defy another. She drew her wrist out of his grip and turned back to the dragon.
“I want to go with you, whatever happens.”
He lowered his head; his tongue licked over her feet. She climbed onto his back, up onto his shoulder. On the beach, Jeon stood alone, watching her, above him Castle Ocean like a broken hand against the sky, and then the dragon carried her into the sea.
About the Author
CECELIA HOLLAND is widely acknowledged as one of the finest historical novelists of our time. She is the author of more than thirty novels, including The Angel and the Sword and The Kings in Winter. Holland lives in Humboldt County, in Northern California, where she teaches creative writing. You can sign up for email updates here.
Dragon Heart Page 25