We will need a bold leader who knows the cost of war. We will need someone who won’t take King Zorlan—or any other threat—lightly. We need someone who will care more about the people of our kingdom than their own pride. We need someone like you.”
“I am none of the things you described. I’m stubborn and slow to learn. You don’t know me.”
“Perhaps not,” Brianna said. “But we know who you could be. This is your second chance—not many people get more than one.”
“Think about it,” Zollin urged. “You are not the man you were before. And now you can become the man we need—but not if you stay with us. Our goal is to stop Offendorl and Gwendolyn, no matter what it costs. We can do that. But Yelsia needs you, now more than ever.”
“I will think on it,” Wilam said.
“We should sleep on it,” Brianna said. “We could all use some rest.”
They went back to the tent and settled in for a few hours of sleep before dawn woke them. The dragons took positions on each side of the tent. Zollin and Brianna slept well, but Prince Wilam couldn’t get their argument out of his head. His desire to find King Zorlan and his torturer was like a fire in his belly, undeniable and seemingly insatiable. But the wisdom Brianna and Zollin had shared was sound as well. He was needed, even if he wasn’t worthy. He did consider his second chance to be miraculous, and although he owed King Zorlan for the pain Wilam had suffered at the Falxisian king’s hand, he also owed his life to Zollin for healing him. In fact, the more he thought of it, his family and the kingdom of Yelsia owed Zollin more than they could ever repay. He tossed and turned through the night, trying to reconcile his desires.
The next morning he went for a walk once more. He was lost deep in thought and didn’t notice Gyia walking quietly behind him. The purple dragon’s long body moved as gracefully on the ground as it did in the air. It was only when Wilam turned back toward the tent that he noticed the dragon behind him.
“You are a beautiful creature,” he said, trying to appear braver than he felt. The truth was, Gyia was both beautiful and terrifying. The dragon was a sight to behold, with its long, serpentine body and thin, aristocratic head. The sunlight seemed to sink into the rich purple scales, and although Gyia’s pointed teeth were always visible, the dragon seemed benevolent somehow.
A thought entered Wilam’s mind, clear and easily understandable. It was a mental image of Wilam as king, with a crown on his head, standing on the tower of a large castle.
Wilam was surprised by the thought, and somehow comforted by it as well. The thought appeared again in his mind, but this time Gyia was there with Wilam.
“Are you somehow putting thoughts in my head?” he asked the dragon.
“Yessss,” Gyia hissed.
“Can you read my mind?” he asked, horrified for a moment, but Gyia shook its head. “So, you think I should return to Yelsia too, eh?”
An image of Wilam riding through the air on Gyia entered his mind. He looked surprised.
“You want to take me?”
Gyia nodded. An image of the night before came into Wilam’s mind. He saw himself surrounded by Gyia’s purple body, the firelight flickering on his face as he listened. And at the same time as the mental image came, he was flooded with a feeling of peace and the sense that what he was considering was the right thing to do.
“I guess I’d be a fool to argue with a dragon,” he said. “But what about your pride—don’t they need you?”
The feeling of peace came over him again. “All right, I suppose we should go and tell the others.” They walked back to the tent, where Brianna and Zollin were gathering their things together.
“I’ve made my decision,” Wilam asked. “I shall return to Yelsia, as you have so wisely counseled. I want to thank you for your help.”
“It was our honor,” said Zollin. “Here, I’ve packed enough rations to last a week or so. There’s water in the canteen and some wine in the pack as well.”
“Thank you, that is most kind,” Wilam said.
“Until we meet again, your highness,” Zollin said, holding out his hand to the prince.
“May it be soon and often,” Wilam replied, grasping Zollin’s forearm. “You shall always be welcome in Yelsia.”
“We plan to return once this is over,” Zollin said. “Wish us luck.”
“What?” Brianna blurted in surprise, but she wasn’t talking to Zollin or Wilam. They both looked at her with concern.
“Are you sure?”
The other dragons were crowding in close to Gyia.
“Of course you are free to go, but we will miss you,” Brianna said. “Still, I think it is an admirable choice.” She turned to Wilam. “Look after Gyia. Don’t let anyone mistreat my sister.”
“Never,” Wilam said. “Gyia is wise, and I will trust her with my life.”
“They aren’t male or female,” Zollin said softly, with a teasing nod.
“Oh, I didn’t realize that,” Wilam said. “I have a lot to learn.”
“Gyia will be a good instructor,” Brianna said. “In the air, trust your dragon. Gyia will need to rest several times a day, and hunt as well, but that shouldn’t be a problem.”
“The army followed the road and pillaged along the way, so many of the villages were left with nothing or burned down. You might travel to the coast and then turn north. You should be able to get whatever you need along the way by stopping at the coastal towns. Here,” Zollin handed the prince his pouch of silver marks and gold crowns. “That should be enough to get you home.”
“I can never repay you for your kindness,” Wilam said.
“Just get home safe. And be prepared in case we fail.”
“I shall, you can count on me,” Wilam said.
Gyia’s tail coiled around the prince and lifted him onto the dragon’s back. There were small ridges on the purple dragon’s shoulders where the front legs joined the long, smooth body. Wilam slung the pack over his shoulder and took hold of the ridges, one in each hand. His legs wrapped three quarters of the way around Gyia’s body, and he looked secure.
“Stay close to Gyia’s body for warmth,” Brianna said to Wilam. And then to Gyia she said, “And don’t forget your passenger and roast him when you get cold.”
“Yes,” Wilam said. “Please don’t roast me.”
They all laughed, even the dragons, which caused smoke to puff from their noses. Tig was the last to say goodbye, nuzzling Gyia affectionately one last time. Then Gyia jumped into the air. The purple dragon’s wings flapped in mighty waves that lifted Gyia and Prince Wilam high into the air. Then they were gone, flying north toward safety and home, while Zollin and Brianna turned south.
“Well, it’s time to get moving,” Zollin said.
He levitated onto Ferno’s back. Brianna jumped high in the air, flipping and twirling before landing gracefully on Selix’s back.
“Show off,” Zollin said.
Tig roared, then took to the sky.
“He’s scouting ahead,” Brianna said.
“Well then, let’s go.”
Ferno and Selix took to the air smoothly, but Zollin had a feeling that nothing in their future would be as smooth and easy as their flight had begun.
Chapter 28
Nothing filled Offendorl with more glee than seeing Bartoom wreak havoc. The dragon looked like a large bird at first, so high in the sky that it seemed like an indistinct blob. Then it dove, like a streak of black lightning.
Offendorl was in the street across from the tower of the Torr, lingering in the shadows. It had taken the dragon an hour to finally arrive, but once the beast was in sight of the city, it moved with purpose. Offendorl watched as men along the walls pointed at the dragon, although he was sure none of them knew what it was. The soldiers guarding the tower were oblivious to the danger. Offendorl held his breath as the dragon dove, then, at the last instant, he realized his mistake.
The dragon blew its fiery breath onto the tower, whose windows were wide open to c
atch the breeze. The fire would, Offendorl realized too late, destroy his library. His hands fumbled with the heavy gold circlet, jamming it on his head.
“Not the tower,” he said out loud, almost shouting. “Attack the soldiers on the walls!”
The dragon abruptly ceased its raging attack on the tower and swooped away. The soldiers in front of the tower were now pointing up at the black smoke that was flooding out of the top floors of the tower. Offendorl cursed as he stalked toward them. Half of their number ran inside before he reached the courtyard that surrounded the base of the tower.
“Halt!” shouted one of the soldiers.
Offendorl flapped a hand, as if he were shooing a pesky fly. The soldiers were knocked senseless by a wave of magical energy. Offendorl glanced up at the inn window to see if Havina was watching. She was leaning out of the window and he forced himself not to acknowledge her. He was like acting like a child, he and berated himself mentally. He forced his thoughts of the young woman out of his mind. Just climbing the many flights of stairs to reach the upper floors where Gwendolyn would undoubtedly be would be difficult enough, and there was no telling what manner of surprises the witch would have for him along the way.
* * *
“Great gods in heaven,” King Zorlan said. He couldn’t believe his eyes. First, King Belphan had been killed in Yelsia, giving him the opportunity to assassinate the Oslan generals and take control of his rival’s army. Then, he discovered that King Oveer had been killed, and Zorlan had destroyed the greater part of the Ortisan army with ease. Now, with his forces surrounding the Grand City, the black dragon had appeared and was raining down fire on his enemies.
King Zorlan had been afraid that the dragon would attack his men, but instead it was roasting the men on the city walls. Zorlan watched as it swooped down, snapping up one man in its jaws and swatting four more off the high walls with its tail.
“Prepare to attack the main gate,” Zorlan shouted.
“Sir?” his general said in surprise.
“Do as I say or I’ll use your head as a piss pot, general,” Zorlan said angrily. “Do not question my orders ever again. Order the attack. I want the men to form up here, right in front of my tent.”
“Yes, my lord,” the general said, hurrying off and shouting orders to the troops.
Zorlan had planned to wait several days before calling his troops into action, but they could rest when the city was his. Opportunities like the one before him now only came once in a lifetime. Zorlan had never been a religious man, but he couldn’t help but feel that some divine being was smiling down at him, making his ascent to power almost too easy.
His troops began to take formation in front of him. They lined up in rows, the first carrying oversized wooden shields and the second row carrying scaling ladders. Their goal would be to get on top of the gatehouse and fight their way down so that they could open the gates. The soldiers on the walls were occupied completely with the dragon. Archers were firing arrows at the beast, but the arrows just bounced harmlessly off the dragon’s glossy, black scales. It was chaos on the walls and Zorlan knew it was the time to strike.
“Send the first unit,” he bellowed. “And bring me my horse!”
* * *
Offendorl had ascended two flights of stairs when he felt his body grow stiff. From a small doorway came a glassy eyed man with tangled, greasy hair and a ragged beard that was matted with drool.
Offendorl had several warlocks in the tower. Most were completely insane, and although he could not control their powers like a sorcerer, their proximity seemed to boost his own magical prowess. Now that power was being used against him. Gwendolyn was a sorceress and she would turn every magic user in the tower against him.
Suddenly, without any sort of indication from the drooling warlock, Offendorl felt as if he were in the grip of a giant, invisible fist. He had to strain with his own magic to push back against the warlock’s power. He knew the warlock was completely under Gwendolyn’s control, like a puppet whose invisible strings only she could pull. But Offendorl also knew the fears of the warlocks in the tower, knew their weaknesses. Fire erupted from the elder wizard’s hands, billowing out in orange clouds.
The warlock screamed in fright, now turning his considerable strength to fighting off Gwendolyn’s control. Offendorl knew that the warlock feared fire, so he used it to frighten more than harm the man. The warlock shrank back into his cell, the magical grip loosening on Offendorl. The elder wizard felt his magic burning inside him. It was hot, but not too difficult to handle yet. Unfortunately, he had a long way to climb before he faced Gwendolyn and her warlock sister Andomina. But he knew their weakness too, and he would defeat them, of that he was certain.
* * *
The soldiers jogged forward. Occasionally an arrow would streak down from the walls, but none penetrated the oversized shields that the first rank of soldiers were carrying. The second rank stayed close to the first and the big warriors lifted the shields so that only their legs were exposed, while the shields protected their vital organs and the men behind them. The open plain should have been a killing ground, easily defended by the soldier’s on the walls, but the terror of the great black dragon was overwhelming.
When the soldiers’ reached the gatehouse, they leaned their ladders against the tall structure. The gatehouse was made from massive stone blocks that were smooth on the outside. The gates themselves were wooden, made from heavy oak timber imported from Yelsia, bound together with thick iron plates and hung on massive hinges. Normally the gates never closed—the Grand City was a constant hive of activity with people coming and going at all hours—but now the gates were closed. It was up to the soldiers to scale the ladders, fight through any resistance, and unlock the massive gates so that the invaders could gain entry to the city.
King Zorlan knew that, under normal circumstances, if his forces managed to breach the outer walls, the defenders would fall back to the next series of walls within the city. The Grand City was almost like a patchwork quilt, with each new section of the city being surrounded by more walls. If the Grand City had been well defended, it would have taken a much larger army months to fight through the city to the elegant castle at its center. But Zorlan wasn’t facing a well-defended city, and his goal wasn’t to reach the castle. In time, he would ascend the Oslan throne, but for now, while the dragon attacked the defenders, Zorlan only wanted a foothold on the city. It would make his offer to the Ortisans seem more generous.
King Zorlan watched his troops from the saddle of the black horse he rode on. Unlike the massive destriers of the north, Falxisian horses were slender, faster, and more graceful. They were trained for endurance and speed, not to carry heavily armored knights. Still, Zorlan’s mount was tall and muscular, completely black, and very spirited. But the dragon was making the horse nervous and it stomped the dust, wanting to turn and run, causing Zorlan to focus more on controlling the beast than observing the battle before him.
“My lord, more dragons,” a general said in alarm.
Zorlan looked up in surprise as three dragons streaked toward the gatehouse.
* * *
Offendorl was nearly impaled by a soldier on the fourth landing. The man had hidden behind a thick wooden support beam and lashed out at Offendorl just as the elder wizard passed. Luckily for Offendorl, he had a magical shield in place around him that stopped the steel tip of the spear, but the powerful thrust knocked the ancient wizard off balance. Two more soldiers rushed forward and a fourth fired an arrow from a bow. The arrow glanced off Offendorl’s invisible shield and ricocheted into the first soldier, who screamed as he clutched his belly and toppled down the stairs.
The other soldiers were unfazed by their comrade’s demise. Their queen had ordered them to kill, and the jealous rage that simmered just beneath their control had blossomed into full-blown blood lust. With a thought, Offendorl knocked the two soldiers rushing toward him together with such force their skulls were smashed. The soldiers dropped de
ad at Offendorl’s feet.
He paused for a moment to catch his breath. He knew that staying calm and retaining as much strength as possible was paramount in his plan to defeat Gwendolyn. It was tempting to rush to the top of the tower to confront her, but he needed to slow down. The sorceress wasn’t going anywhere, and the smoke that was beginning to fill the air in the tower made it evident that the dragon’s work had done it’s job. Offendorl had to stop himself from falling into despair over the loss of his precious books. His only hope where that was concerned was that Gwendolyn might possibly save at least a portion of his library.
The soldier with the bow had slipped away, almost certainly hoping to catch Offendorl on the floors above. Most of the warlocks in the tower were below him now. In fact, most were kept in the dungeon-like cells below ground. Only the less dangerous warlocks were allowed to occupy the upper floors. And soon Offendorl would be among the alchemists, who would pose no real threat. They spent their days tinkering in workshops, trying to perfect methods of transmuting simple objects such as lead or brass into gold, silver, or steel that was both stronger and lighter than that made by blacksmiths in their smoking furnaces. They documented their progress, but their work was never shared outside the Torr. Of course, Offendorl could transmute almost any substance, but the alchemists studied not only for the outcome, but also the process. Offendorl’s power came from knowing how things worked, so he had filled the tower with magic users who could increase his knowledge.
It pained the elder wizard to know that their research could be lost too, if Gwendolyn didn’t get the fires under control. At the next floor, he found two men waiting for him. They stood blocking the path to the stairs, their eyes closed and a massive magical shield protecting them.
Five Kingdoms: Book 05 - Fierce Loyalty Page 29