“What I saw was a battle.” He pushed himself out of the chair.
“A senseless slaughter!” She banged her fist on the table. “You saw Inferno. He’s one of the most ancient dragons in the world, and he was picked off in a battle without honor.”
Nath’s stomach churned. She was right. The dragons had hit Inferno hard and fast. The great beast had been blindsided.
“I have no doubt you have used similar tactics.” Nath tore off a leg of turkey and bit into it. Selene lifted a brow. He waggled the leg at her. “And it was under your orders that this war began in the first place.”
“Hah!” She tossed her head back. “You are a fool! This war started long before me or you. If anyone initiated it, it was your father.”
“You dare!”
“I do dare!” She seized his arm. “Nath, I know you love your father, but what has he ever done? He sits in the Mountain of Doom and dispenses orders to his minions.”
“What minions?”
“Oh Nath,” she sighed. “Are you so naïve? Do you think in all the land you were the only one rescuing dragons and keeping an eye on things? Your father has as many spies as I. Likely more. And not just dragons. There are elves, humans, and what about your dear friend Brenwar? What do you think Balzurth does inside that mountain home when you’re not around?”
“Sleep?”
She held her gut and broke out in laughter. “Ah-aha-ha-ha-ha!”
Nath tossed the turkey leg onto the table. “Pah!” He scowled. “You don’t know everything.”
“And you do,” she said, chuckling. She caught her breath. “Oh, I needed that laugh. I don’t think I’ve laughed so hard in years. You amuse me, Nath.”
His jaw muscles clenched. Again, Selene was pointing out things he’d never considered before. Why wouldn’t his father have other spies? How else did he keep such a close watch on things? There were times, so many times, when he spoke with his father and his father seemed to know everything. It only made sense that he had help with it.
“Why would my father want war?”
Selene cleared her throat and took a sip of tea.
“Balzurth has one way of controlling things, and Gorn Grattack has another. It’s a fight between the two of them, if you ask me,” she said, “and I think it should be the two of them fighting it out and not us, their … oh, how shall I put it?” She tapped her clawed finger on her chin. “You don’t like minions—you made that clear, so how about henchmen? Yes, we are their henchmen. Or foot soldiers? Do you like that?”
“No,” he said.
“Nath,” she said, resting her elbow on the back of his chair, “Gorn Grattack raised me to serve his purpose, and Balzurth raised you to serve his own. It’s as simple as that. Are we special? Yes, I suppose. We can both do things other dragons cannot do, but we are just pawns, in the larger scheme of things.”
“I don’t believe that,” he said. “I’m supposed to take my father’s throne one day.”
“And if you aren’t worthy,” she said, “then it will have to be another.”
The blunt statement stung, and his eyes drifted to his hands. Black scales with a little mix of white.
“No one is perfect, Nath, and that includes our sires. They just want us to think they are.”
He rubbed his temples and said, “So what is the point in all this?”
She shrugged and said, “I suppose to them it’s entertainment, but I think we can change that. I think you can change it.”
“I’m tired of all this fighting!” he said, balling up his fists.
“Then put an end to all of it, Nath. You and I can bring peace among the dragons. I believe it.”
Everything had become more difficult and more confusing. One day, he could turn into a dragon. The next day, he couldn’t. He was banished by his father yet accepted by his enemy. He had black scales, white scales, and could make balls of fire with his mouth. He had fallen a thousand feet and survived. But now, at this very moment, he felt…
Nath glared at Selene. She had a way of making him feel as helpless as an infant. And a way of combining the truth with lies. Still, he found himself agreeing with what she said.
“Are you suggesting we rebel against our sires?”
Selene got up and rested her hands around his neck and shoulders.
“Now you are starting to think the way a true dragon prince should think.”
CHAPTER 21
Whistledown. It had been either a large village or a small town; one could no longer tell. Buildings were shattered or burned to the ground. The streets were empty of life, the farmland and vineyards overgrown with weeds.
Sasha kept her hand clasped to Bayzog’s. The husband and wife had not parted company for more than a moment since they reunited over a month ago. They walked hand in hand, arms swinging a little. Behind them, Ben and their boys followed.
“A strange place,” Rerry said. He eyed his brother Samaz. “I’m sure you like it.”
“I do,” Samaz said softly.
“Of course,” Rerry said, dusting his light hair out of his eyes. “Must be the lack of people.”
“Behave yourself,” Sasha said. She nudged Bayzog’s shoulder. “They never stop unless it’s something else they fight.”
Bayzog bumped her back and nodded.
“They are as feisty as their mother,” he said, looking into her eyes, “and that’s a quality I always admired about you.”
“That’s not a good thing,” she said, lowering her eyes. “Sometimes dangerous.”
“Sasha, let it go,” Bayzog said. Sasha had been apologizing profusely for days, and Bayzog had forgiven her profusely even though he didn’t think there was anything to forgive. “You are too hard on yourself. Everyone makes mistakes.”
“You don’t.”
“I have,” he said.
“Name one, then,” she said. “I’d like to hear.”
“Me too,” Rerry said, catching up.
“Count me in,” said Ben, strolling along Sasha’s side, smiling.
Bayzog swallowed the lump in his throat. He’d made mistakes—he was certain of it—but they eluded him. Finally, he said, “I never should have left my wife’s side, nor my children’s.”
“Mmmm…” Sasha started. “I can accept that.”
Bayzog’s eyes enlarged.
“I’m joking, Bayzog. A jest. You did nothing wrong with that.” She hugged the robed sleeve of his arm. “You had a greater duty.”
“Greater than family?”
“You know what you did was right,” she said. “I know it, too. We all do. And we can’t win this battle with you thinking like that.”
Bayzog appreciated her words. They rang true in his heart, but it ached anyway. His boys were men now, and he hadn’t been there to see it happen.
“We are ready to go where you go now, Father,” Rerry said, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Even my overly knit brother can handle himself.”
Bayzog glanced over his shoulder. Samaz sauntered behind them, dark hair covering all but the small elven tip of one ear. His sleepy eyes seemed to watch both everything at once and nothing at all. The Samaz he saw now was a far cry from the one in the cave, ranting about Gorn Grattack, sweating and chest heaving. Now, Samaz moved with perfect peace.
“Son,” Bayzog said, releasing Sasha’s hand and drifting alongside Samaz, “what are you feeling?”
“Nothing at the moment,” he said, “but there was a tremor earlier. Gave me the bumps.”
“I’ll give you a bump,” Rerry injected.
Bayzog’s violet eyes narrowed on his younger son.
“Sorry,” Rerry said.
“Anything else?” Bayzog said to Samaz.
“No, I just hope I feel something before it’s too late.”
A brisk gust of wind slammed into them, howling.
Whistledown, north of Quintuklen, rested on the plains inside of leagues of canyons. They walked toward a mostly dry riverbed where much water had fl
owed not so long ago. Now there was but a tiny stream.
“How can an entire river be gone?” Samaz said. “I remember coming here as a boy.”
“The giants and dragons drank it up,” Rerry said. He picked up a smooth river stone and chucked it to the other side. “Or monstrous beavers made a dam. So, now that we’re here, what do we do, Father, start a new village?”
“We wait,” Bayzog said, looking toward the darkening skies. “Now, let’s make some shelter.”
***
“Let me see that,” Brenwar said, holding out his hand.
“A moment, if you please,” Pilpin replied. He held up to his eye a spyglass cast in iron. He peered into the valley below the canyon’s rim. “My eyes are better than yours anyway.”
“They certainly are not.”
“They certainly are too,” the feisty little dwarf replied.
Brenwar snatched it away.
“No need to be so rude,” Pilpin said.
“I gave you an order. You ignored it.” With a grunt, Brenwar surveyed the demolished town of Whistledown, and his heart sagged. It had been one of the nicest places in Nalzambor, even though it wasn’t dwarven. The people were warm and so was their food. They made fine ale too, for common folk. Now, it was a heap with little sign of life. “Truce, my behind.”
“What’s that?” Pilpin said.
“Seems you don’t hear so well, Pilpin.”
“You grumble so.”
Brenwar slapped the spyglass so that it collapsed, and then he spit through his beard, saying, “Grumbling is what dwarves do.”
“But you do it worse than most.”
He shook his head. Pilpin was a good companion, but his chronic comments became cumbersome.
“Why don’t you go check on the horses or something?” Brenwar said.
“They are fine.”
“Then go crack rocks on your head.”
“Well then!” Pilpin sauntered off.
Brenwar could still envision Whistledown with its cheery voices and smiling faces. Fishermen came from all over to wade in the wide but shallow river. Nath loved to go fishing there when he was younger. They’d walked the sandy riverbanks for weeks at a time on occasion. Now those days were gone. The knuckles on Brenwar’s fist turned white. It had all happened so fast.
Backing away from the canyon’s rim, he took a seat on a pile of rocks and unwrapped the blood-soaked bandage on his leg. He and Pilpin had fought their way through every forest, hillside, and meadow between here and Morgdon. The hidden landscape crawled with evil. He scooped up some dirt and rubbed it in the wound.
“Ah … that’ll do.”
He took the bandage, found a clean spot, and polished his breastplate. The leather bindings creaked, and he could feel a loose spot where one of the buckles was busted. A dragon’s claw had ripped through it, but Brenwar’s war hammer had dotted it in the head. He’d never seen so many dragons before, not even in Dragon Home. It left him uncomfortable. Closing his eyes, he leaned back against the rocky ledge. The canyon winds stirred his beard. Combing his fingers through it, he fell asleep.
“Ugh!” Brenwar jerked up. It was pitch black, and rainfall was soaking him. Harshly, he whispered, “Pilpin!”
No reply.
He scanned the darkness and cocked an ear.
Where is that little bearded monster?
Wiping the rain from his eyes, he had rolled up onto his knees when his instincts fired. He clutched for War Hammer—and found nothing.
“Woe is me.”
Two shadows closed in on either side of him, hemming him in. Spears pointed at his neck.
Brenwar tried to grab one of the spears by the shaft, but the steel head eased away, and the other cracked against the back of his skull.
“Fast for a dwarf,” a hollow voice said, “but slow for anything else.”
“I’ll show you slow,” Brenwar said. His knees bent, and he readied to spring.
“Even naps don’t do you well.” The cloaked figure tossed something at his feet. Thunk. “Here’s a pillow.”
War Hammer lay at his feet. Brenwar snatched it up, saying, “You’re a piece of work, pot belly.” He huffed. “I thought I was rid of you.”
Shum pulled his hood back and offered a stony smile.
“And I you, but it seems a season passed.”
Hoven, the other ranger, offered Brenwar a hand.
He took it. It was good to see them, so long as they didn’t know it was.
“Where’s that bearded runt?” Brenwar said.
“He sleeps.”
Brenwar stretched out his thick arms and yawned.
“What is with this place?”
“How long had it been since you last slept?”
Brenwar shrugged and nodded.
“So, have you gathered anything on the others?”
It had been a year. The time to meet had come. It was good to know the rangers were fine, but he wondered about Bayzog and Ben. And Nath…
“We caught wind of your horses,” Shum said, resting his hands on his stomach, “as we traveled in.”
“You walked?”
“We lost our steeds to a black-winged dragon some time ago,” Shum said.
Brenwar’s heart fell. Losing a mount, especially a Roamer steed, was contemptible. And he knew the steeds were more than the best. They were friends that would die for you.
“Sorry for the loss,” he said. “Now let me go dig Pilpin out of whatever hole he burrowed himself into.”
“And we head down then,” Shum said.
“Aye,” said Brenwar. “Aye.”
***
The dwarves claimed that the rain had washed out any signs of passersby, but the Wilder Elves’ keen eyes still picked up a trail worn in the dirt back and forth to the river. In the dark, he could feel it through his soft leather boots. Someone still prowled the area. A man, or men.
“Care to wait?” he said back to Brenwar.
“Suit yerself,” the dwarf said with his arms folded over War Hammer on his chest. “But don’t stir a fight without me, elf.”
Through the rain, Shum and Hoven slid through the dark down the path. There were plenty of dangerous creatures that lurked in the ruins these days, waiting for food to spring upon. He and his brother had the wounds to show for it.
Almost a hundred yards from the river, he came to stop. A pair of cellar doors were closed over the ground behind a ramshackle house. Shum’s nose twitched, and in the darkness he could see the warmth within. He nodded to Hoven.
His brother slid over to the doors and grabbed one of the handles.
The doors burst upward, knocking Hoven backward. Three shrouded figures emerged.
Shum’s hands felt for his hilts, but it was too late. A sword shimmered beneath his chin.
The second figure stood within the cellar and had an arrow nocked and pointed at Hoven’s chest. “Don’t budge.”
“Well done,” Hoven said.
The figure stretched the bowstring back farther and leaned closer.
“What did I say?”
“Ben,” Shum said, “you’re among friends.” He turned his eyes down on the figure with the sword on his neck. “You’re quick. I’m impressed. I don’t believe we are acquainted.”
The young part-elf’s violet eyes didn’t blink.
“It’s alright, Rerry,” Ben said. He eased the string and quivered his arrow. Clatch. Snap. Clatch. “It’s the Roamers we told you about.”
***
All parties were in the cellar now, out of the rain: the two dwarves, the three part-elves, the two Roamers, Ben, and Sasha.
Bayzog was more than pleased to see his old friends.
“It’s been months we’ve waited,” he said. He told them the entire story about what happened when he returned. How Sasha and his sons were kidnapped. How the dragonettes and the jaxite stones aided in their rescue, and about the conflict in the garden with the mysterious female Cleric of Barnabus.
“I l
ike that last part,” Brenwar said. “’Tis good to know I’ve rubbed off on you some, heh, heh.”
Bayzog wasn’t the only one with adventures to tell.
“The woodlands are thick with enemies, and the armies of Barnabus are choking the life out of all the outer cities,” Brenwar told everyone.
“And Gorn Grattack roams,” Shum added, relaying his quest that the winged-ape Sansla Libor had given them, to find their greatest enemy. “And I believe my brother and I have caught wind of him.”
“You have?” Bayzog said. The fine hairs on his arms stood up. “And?”
“He’s near,” Shum continued. “We’ve felt the chill of him. Seen the unnatural devastation.” The Roamer elf went on in detail, telling how branches curled and grasses blackened. Forest varmints dropped dead in scores. Streams ran mixed with dark water. “East of Quintuklen, burrowed in the thickness of the forest.”
There was talk that had been spreading of black dragons seen in the sky, too. It sent chills through Bayzog.
“Yet,” he said, “Balzurth’s dragons are on the move. His word is good.”
“Aye,” Brenwar said, “dragons fight and skirmish, but this war must be fought by all the races, not just them. The elves wait too long. The dwarves burrow. Men bicker among themselves. The other brood races gather and strengthen. Lay siege on the outlying lands. The dragons’ coming should have been a grand enough sign that the war is upon us, but they’ve all dug their heels in on this false truce.”
“They must know cities still burn,” Ben said.
“They ignore it and blame it on the dragons,” Shum said.
Sasha stepped in and said, “We will have to convince them.”
“No,” Shum said, “that is not for us to do. Others already try. We need to strike at the heart of the evil and expose it.” The torches flickered in the oversized cellar, and all went quiet. “We need to assault Gorn Grattack.”
Brenwar huffed. “Madness.” He thumbed the edge of War Hammer. “But I like it.”
CHAPTER 22
Back in Narnum after two months’ absence, Selene sat on her throne, clutching her head. The incompetence of her guards was like a nasty spike into her skull.
The Chronicles of Dragon Collection (Series 1 Omnibus, Books 1-10) Page 113