Iron Will

by James Maxwell

  He remembered the time before Eiric had sounded the Horn of Marrix. When just a handful of dragons roamed the world, they had terrorized villages and feasted on humans and livestock alike. This was an evil far greater.

  Zachary spied movement and tilted his body, riding an updraft to gain height. He gave three sweeps of his wings and coasted forward, peering down at the plain and watching as it suddenly became filled with people.

  His heart rate began to increase. He flew faster to gain a better vantage.

  Soldiers were climbing onto their dragons, but Zachary could see that this was no mere training exercise. Rather than blunted wooden lances, these soldiers were carrying sharp metal spears. Sunlight reflected from swords and chain mail. And this time there were sorcerers: six men in gray robes mounting dragons in the foremost row.

  Zachary lost height and circled. With the sorcerers was a woman in a dress, also holding a staff like her companions. A tall man with dark hair and a long beard wore a huge sword sheathed on his back with the hilt poking up over his shoulder. He settled himself astride the biggest of the red dragons.

  The tall man – Zachary knew he was Palemon – clasped his hand over his sword and drew it in a single motion. He raised it into the air, and Zachary could almost hear the roar of the riders arrayed behind him. Palemon’s dragon lifted him into the sky, while the sorcerers fell in behind him, followed by the first row of mounted soldiers, then the next, until the entire army was trailing after the king.

  The army of dragons flew over Malakai, past the harbor walls, and soon traveled toward the sea, heading east and slightly north. Zachary shadowed the red dragons from above; there was no chance that the occasional cloud would cause him to lose them.

  They would need to rest. The Maltherean Sea couldn’t be reached in a single day. He had to follow them and find out where they were going.

  He had to give whatever warning he could.

  13

  Fort Liberty was a lopsided island, with towering cliffs on one side climbing to a high plateau that then descended sharply to the twin headlands of the harbor. The thriving settlement clustered around the sandy beach, but there was only so much space, and so the timber houses rose up the hillside in tiers, which meant that almost every resident had spectacular views of the sea. The island that the Free Men had established as their base was now an important trading outpost, and Cob traveled frequently between Fort Liberty and Xanthos.

  Worried about his ability to protect Fort Liberty from afar, Dion had decided to build a citadel on the plateau. Any attackers would have to deal with the stronghold first, and with a high position and thick walls it could deter an invading force. But such a grand project required someone to oversee it, and immediately Dion had thought of Roxana. She knew the island well. Building ships was engineering of a different sort than erecting fortifications, but she had an engineer’s mindset and long experience managing work crews. The philosopher Xenophon’s detailed plans had augmented any gaps in her knowledge, and work had progressed speedily.

  The citadel was now complete. Its design was basic: a broad rectangle with battlements like a stone giant’s teeth, high gates of solid oak, and a secure armory, which doubled as a place of sanctuary for the townsfolk. On three sides the walls continued down to the sheer cliffs and then the sea. On the fourth side the gates led to a dusty plain, and then a steep road connected the stronghold to the harbor settlement.

  Cob and a young soldier climbed the series of stone steps that led from the citadel’s interior to the roof. Between them they carried a ballista, the soldier gripping its curved arms and Cob struggling with the sturdy base. Sweat streaked down Cob’s forehead; it was blazing hot and he had been working all day. He was red-faced by the time he and the soldier reached the battlements with their burden, and out under the open sky it was hotter still.

  ‘Let’s put it down for a moment, eh?’ Cob said to his younger companion. They lowered the weapon, and Cob wiped at his forehead as he regained his breath. ‘Getting too old for this,’ he muttered.

  ‘Where should we put it?’ the soldier asked.

  ‘There’s only one place left,’ Cob said. The realization that this was the last ballista to bring up filled him with relief. ‘Over there.’ He crouched and gripped the base. ‘All right, lad. Let’s go again.’

  Working together, they carried the ballista to the row of matching weapons on the battlements, maneuvering it into place at the end of the line. With long practice Cob helped the soldier tilt it so that it was aimed up at the sky. They shifted it a few times before it was done. Cob then stood back to examine their handiwork.

  Twenty ballistae stood side by side on the battlements in front of him, facing the plain. He turned slowly. Another twenty on each of the other three sides. Eighty in total. They could all pivot, and so whichever direction the enemy came from, they could bring every weapon to bear. Barrels filled with iron spears stood near the weapons. The stairs leading to the armory descended from the center of the floor, which meant there was plenty of room for defenders to operate.

  Cob walked to the edge of the next wall and gazed down at the town. He could clearly see the rows of houses all facing the sea and the steep streets filled with people bustling about. The citadel had been built where the ballistae, with a range of half a mile, could guard the settlement below. Even if their enemies flew low over the sea, they would be in danger.

  More soldiers emerged from the stairwell carrying large squares of sackcloth. One by one, they covered the ballistae. From the sky, the weapons would now blend in with the stone of the citadel.

  Taking it all in, Cob felt proud of his wife, Roxana, and what she had accomplished, but then the cold hand of reality gripped his heart.

  Fort Liberty had nothing like the strength needed to defeat Palemon’s army. The defenders had surprises to spring, and attacking the citadel would hurt. But that was the best they could do.

  Cob walked to the middle of the area. Squinting as he looked up, he suddenly heard a voice behind him.

  ‘Keep staring at the sun like that and you’ll go blind.’

  He turned and saw Roxana grinning. She was taller than him – but most people were – and ten years younger, but in Roxana he had found the companion that he’d never known he needed until he met her. She was stocky and tanned a deep brown, with close-cropped, sun-bleached blonde hair.

  ‘Just keeping an eye out,’ Cob said.

  ‘It’s hard not to.’ Roxana’s smile faded. She glanced around the top of the citadel, seeing the covered ballistae and the lids closed on the barrels containing projectiles. She nodded approvingly. ‘Looks like you’ve got everything in order. Shall we head back to town?’

  Cob shook his head. ‘I’m going to stay here with the men.’

  ‘Then I’ll stay with you.’

  Her hand enfolded his, and soon they were both gazing up at the sky.

  Dion stood on the summit of Xanthos’s thick surrounding wall. He gazed out at the barren ground directly outside the city, where six tall stacks made up of odd pieces of lumber stood in a row, easily within range of the archer’s bows.

  He nodded. It was another idea of Xenophon’s. The lumber had been soaked in Galean Fire, the noxious substance the old philosopher had been concocting for weeks. Flaming torches burned night and day near where Dion was standing, and the archers had all been given fire arrows. If Palemon flew his dragons over the stacks, he would get a grim surprise.

  Leaving the walls behind, Dion walked toward the shore, on his way gazing up at the tallest of the flat-roofed houses, where he’d chosen to site more archers. He climbed the ladders and greeted his men by name. He always said the same thing: ‘Be vigilant. I thank you for your service.’

  He finally reached the palisade that followed the shore. Arrayed in a long row, the ballistae stood ready. More soldiers paced the inside of the barrier. Young and old, they straightened in his presence. He reminded them that what they were doing was important.

>   His tour complete, Dion walked to the water’s edge. He was hidden from his men by the palisade, and finally allowed the despair to show on his face.

  While the hoplites were veterans, some of the boys fighting for him had yet to shave. He was making every preparation he could, but he had also seen the beginnings of Palemon’s army with his own eyes. When Palemon seized half of Kargan’s fleet the red dragons had been terrifying. How big was his army now?

  Dion despised Palemon with every fiber of his being. He could lay Isobel’s death, and that of his unborn child, firmly at his enemy’s feet. Palemon had beaten Dion, collared him, and chained him to a wall. He’d dragged Dion through the dust and forced him to stumble all the way to Cape Cush.

  Dion could never make peace with such a man.

  But was survival even possible?

  He put on a brave face for his men, but he had to admit to himself that Xanthos’s defenses were feeble. Long ago, Aleuthea had dominated the world, and Dion could see why. Palemon was able to strike at any time. He could come without warning. The idea of resisting him seemed hopeless.

  Dion suddenly tensed. From his position on the shore, he could make out the broad, twin arcs of wings. The dragon was flying at speed, heading directly for Xanthos. At the same time that he saw that the creature’s scales were silver, rather than red, he sensed a familiar presence. Zachary.

  ‘Hold off!’ Dion called back to his men, and he heard the command echoed as it was passed down the line.

  The dragon’s wings were pulled in tightly: Zachary was in a hurry. His almond-shaped eyes were narrowed as he descended directly toward Dion. Soon Dion saw the crescent scar on the side of his face. When Zachary reached the shore, his wings opened up at the end to brake his momentum, revealing veins as the sun shone through them. He came to a hard halt on the sand.

  Mist enveloped Zachary from nose to tail, clouding him completely. The mist shimmered and then dispersed, revealing the tall, lean eldran, with gold-flecked eyes and long hair more white than silver.

  Zachary shook his head from side to side; his eyes were a little unfocused. ‘Dion,’ he panted. ‘I bring urgent news.’

  A chill raced along Dion’s spine. He knew what was coming.

  ‘The dragon army has left Malakai. Palemon leads. I shadowed them for a long time, long enough to guess their destination. They traveled due east from the Chasm.’

  Dion stared out to sea. ‘Fort Liberty,’ he said softly. He knew it in his heart. Palemon wanted to send him a message. ‘How long do we have?’

  ‘They slowed after they came to the Maltherean. They will rest tonight and strike tomorrow.’

  Dion’s heart skipped a beat. ‘Can you change again?’

  Zachary nodded.

  ‘I need you to find my uncle at the palace and tell him what you told me. Then go to Phalesia and warn Amos.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  Dion was already imagining a new form: a long, sleek, black-scaled dragon. ‘To do what I can.’

  Chloe set down the reed she was using to write on a sheet of papyrus and rubbed her temples. Her hand ached from making notations against Consul Felix’s list of supply allocations and her head hurt from all the arithmetic.

  She was in the villa’s reception, seated at the high table, and while she paused in her work, her eyes were on the nearby staff leaning against the wall. The tall wooden pole with an iron claw on its tip could project fire, although it was something she had never attempted. Even so, Chloe was keeping it close. The time might come when she would have to pick up a weapon rather than a reed dipped in ink.

  She suddenly heard a voice calling her name. The female cry was urgent.

  Leaving her seat, Chloe ran to the doorway and saw Liana climbing the steps to the terrace with another eldran beside her. Chloe saw the grave expression on both Zachary and Liana’s faces and knew it could only be bad news.

  ‘It’s begun,’ Liana panted.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘The island known as Fort Liberty,’ Zachary said.

  ‘Have you told Amos?’

  Zachary nodded. ‘He is placing the city on high alert and sending runners to all the homesteads and villages.’

  ‘Dion?’

  ‘He left as soon as I told him. I have to go now to warn Eiric.’

  Chloe paled. Despite the fact Dion had deceived her, she knew in her heart that he had done it out of a misguided sense of love. They had survived ordeals together. She knew how strong his feelings were when she looked into his eyes.

  ‘Dion doesn’t have many soldiers at Fort Liberty,’ Chloe said.

  Liana met Chloe’s eyes. ‘We have to help him.’

  Still standing in the doorway, Chloe turned to look back inside. Her heart raced as she stared at the staff. The iron claw suddenly looked menacing.

  The time to fight had come.

  14

  It was morning. Dion had flown as long as he could, but he was forced to rest on a barren isle or risk turning wild forever. He slept fitfully and woke with a jolt long before dawn.

  Now he was flying again.

  He soared high above the scattered clouds and the expanse of the blue ocean, with only the sound of rushing air and the hammer of his heart in his chest to keep him company. He was desperate to reach Fort Liberty before Palemon’s army of red dragons. Cob was there, and Roxana, along with hundreds of young soldiers. Many of the people he had led as the king of the Free Men lived in the small township. They needed him.

  Thoughts whirled through his mind. He felt dread more than anything else. For all his plans and tireless efforts, he knew in his heart that when Palemon came the new citadel would fall without question. A few dozen dragons might be killed, but the outcome of any battle was inevitable. Palemon was making a point, but it was a point that Dion already understood. Did hundreds of young men need to die to prove something he already believed?

  The rolling waves of the sea below passed in a blur. Dion was so high that the wind howled incessantly. The summer sun shone fiercely on his black scales, making him unbearably hot and draining his strength. Fatigue was becoming a problem.

  He finally saw the island far below him. At the moment it looked peaceful. Four triremes – the ships that Cob had taken – bobbed in the harbor along with a dozen fishing boats and a handful of other vessels. Tiny figures on the summit of the new citadel moved about casually, without panic. But Dion had no doubt that the peace would soon be broken.

  He inspected the citadel with interest; he had seen it during construction, but this was his first view of it complete. He then decided to fly higher, so high that he might be able to see the army approaching.

  He caught an updraft and his stomach lurched as he climbed. Performing a series of wide circles, he scanned the sky. He was soon so high above the water that he could no longer make out separate waves. Broad and featureless, the blue went on and on. He gazed up, down, and in all directions. He couldn’t see any winged creatures, but that didn’t mean Palemon wasn’t coming. And when he did, Fort Liberty would be on its own.

  Something drew his attention.

  At first he thought it was nothing, perhaps a pod of whales traveling the sea. But when he narrowed his gaze, he saw that there was a collection of tiny specks that could only be ships. And to be visible from this height, they had to be large ships.

  He flew toward the distant fleet. There were around twenty vessels, clustered together and sailing slowly, weighed down by six sluggish ships in the rear. Dion approached swiftly, feeling hope. There was only one man who could be traveling with such a large fleet, and that man owed Dion his life.

  Keenly aware of every passing moment, Dion tucked in his wings and dived. Wind roared past his body. The ships came into greater focus as he rapidly lost height. He set his sights on the bireme in the lead, a big warship he recognized at once as the Nexotardis, Kargan’s flagship.

  He saw the orange-and-yellow flag flying from the top of the ship’s mast, along with a
fluttering purple pennant indicating that the king was traveling aboard. The sailors stopped what they were doing and stared up at the sky. Archers drew strings to their cheeks and waited for the command to fire on the menacing black dragon descending from above.

  Dion opened up his wings and swept them down hard to lose speed. He hovered for a time, directly above the Nexotardis but out of bowshot. Finally he saw a big, bearded man in a bright-yellow robe striding on the deck and waving his arms as he bellowed. He recognized Kargan immediately.

  The archers relaxed their strings and lowered their bows. The soldiers and crew cleared a large section of deck. Only then did Dion descend. He ignored the stares of the crew and settled himself, fluttering his wings. He imagined himself as a two-legged man; the shape of a dragon was not his true form. Mist welled around his body, enveloping him as he felt himself change. The sea breeze blew the mist away, and now the Ileans were looking at the king of Xanthos: a richly dressed young man with flaxen hair and an athletic frame.

  Dion shook his head; his eyes were unfocused, but then clarity returned. He straightened and saw Kargan approaching.

  ‘King Dion,’ Kargan said in his gruff, growling voice. He spoke in a low tone, coming in close so his men couldn’t hear him. ‘You have news?’

  Dion nodded, panting as he regained his breath. ‘They’re coming. Attacking Fort Liberty.’

  ‘How far away?’

  ‘Hours at best.’

  Kargan’s expression became irritated when another man joined them. He was the huge, blank-faced bodyguard Dion had seen several times before. ‘What do you want from me?’ Kargan asked, ignoring Javid’s arrival.

  Dion was taken aback. ‘What do I want? I want your help. This fleet is close enough to Fort Liberty to make a difference.’