by Dan Allen
“Up!” Terith called. “Haul up!”
Terith turned to his group and gave the go-ahead. Bander heaved mightily, leading the charge, any height hard won. All the dragons beat the air with four times their usual stroke rhythm. “Ride hard!” Terith called.
All the riders, in two groups of four, now bore the heavy drag of a dozen yards of broad-leaf ivy strung between each of them, the fans of their improvised aerial windmill. Nema’s patrol banked right, flying over a canyon about twice as wide as the length of their giant ivy rope.
Terith’s patrol angled toward the north canyon.
An uproar sounded from the mass of savages moving through the trees beneath them and westward over the bridges. They were moving inland, and fast.
He could only hope to stem the flow by taking out the first bridges and trapping the remainder of the horde on the first megalith and denying those yet to cross an easy entry point.
The first volley of arrows flew at their formation from the trees to their right.
Terith opened his channel to the awakening, ready to unleash his awakened speed.
As his patrol flew out over the fog-clouded canyon, cannons boomed in the distance, firing in vain at the high-flying patrols of Bergulo and Rindl.
The cannons took time to reload. After this volley, the dragons would commence their strafing runs, burning up bridges, starting at the Outland edge and moving inland, charging the Outlanders from their rear.
Terith had to keep their attention.
“Dive!” Terith cried as a second storm of arrows sailed toward his patrol.
He banked left, and a quarter mile away, Nema mirrored his action, turning right. In unison, the eight dragons turned in two wide counter-moving circles, accelerating downward, through the storm of arrows and into the canyon fog. Terith guided Bander in a wide spiral arc, spiraling downward into the canyon. The ivy leaves pulled backward against the increasing air resistance, braving a hail of arrows that rained down from the canyon edges above.
Two arrows pierced his strythe, though not deeply. Skin wounds could not stop a war dragon. The saber-fanged beast banked strongly into the turn despite the onslaught. A heavy arrow struck the center of Terith’s chest plate and knocked him backward, but his heel hooks held and Bander stayed his course. He unleashed his gathered awakening and in the slowed motion dodged three arrows and blocked another two with his arm gauntlets.
As the circling riders plunged into the fog, the mist began to swirl. Terith drove their windmill headlong into the darkness.
“How much longer?” cried one of the riders, voice twisted by the wind and choked by the rank air.
Suddenly the force of the drag lessened. The air was moving itself.
“Release!” Terith cried, hacking the tethered ivy loose from his harness with his remaining knife.
In the fog-deepened twilight, eight dragon wings flapped against the surging cyclone.
Terith turned Bander into the rising interior of the whirlwind. The air was choked with swamp gas as dragon and rider spiraled upwards as if shot from a cannon.
Terith called for a burst of fire as the dragons emerged at the top of the cyclone, just below the rim of the megalith. Tongues of flame spread out in pinwheel fashion, licking the outstretched fingers of the ivy stems. The firestorm, fed by the continual upthrust of swamp air climbing the cyclone, left a trail of smoke and burning ivy on both sides of the canyon as it moved upstream toward the shallows, gathering strength.
The swamp fire turned in the sky in waves of flame, broiling the walls of the canyons and then breaking out over the cloud forest.
That ought to get their attention, he thought as he rode the rising current of hot air higher, taking in the whole battlefield.
Terith’s ears filled with the buzzing of tens of thousands of scorpions, all rushing up onto the megaliths, fleeing the fire. The screams of men joined the chorus. Savages fell by the hundreds as angry buzzing scorpions flooded the Erden watchtower’s megalith. The watch post was overrun with a new and deadlier horde.
“Attack the Montas and it will fight back,” Terith said. He directed Bander out of the billowing clouds of smoke. Across the megalith, Nema’s fire was moving down the opposite canyon, scorching ivy as it went.
“Yes!”
Nema had done it. It was an awesome spectacle, as if the Guardians had summoned up a demonic curse to send back the horde. Several of the lower bridges were already burning by the time the Bergulo and Rindl’s teams of armored dragons stormed the canyons in blazing dives like falling meteors.
No hail of arrows greeted them, only the symphony of chirping and the screams of the bare-chested, tattooed warriors as they fell to the droves of the hand-sized scorpions pouring onto the megalith.
Dragon fire from Rindl and Bergulo’s diving dragons raked the high bridges. The structures flaked into cinders in the furnace-like heat. Two of the flaming ivy rope and slat structures collapsed into the deep, stirring more fires below.
Six bridges fell. The megalith of Erden was nearly an island.
Bergulo’s dragon attacked an anchor post with a torrent of flame. Guy ropes snapped back and the bridge full of warriors swung down into the smoke and fog of the canyon.
“One more,” Terith said.
Rindl’s patrol pulled high as Outlanders converged on the remaining bridge, concentrating their arrows in a deadly cross fire.
Kema turned out of his patrol, coming at the assembly from the west, high and fast.
Terith saw the rash move and had only moments to react.
He dove for the canyon hoping to draw their fire, while Kema’s fruit dragon made a desperate dive, wings tucked full, toward the last remaining bridge. Arrows caught Kema in a cross fire and the falling dragon crumpled mid-dive. Kema’s dragon’s momentum carried it straight through the bridge, snapping the suspension ropes as its rider leapt free.
Dodging debris from the demolished bridge, Bander moved into a world of slow motion as Terith opened his awakening in full. The dragon stretched back his wings, extended his powerful hind talons and snagged Kema out of his death dive.
Terith blew his whistle as he pulled up level with the megalith.
“To the crossroads!”
Three war horns answered.
Echoes of “Fall back!” sounded around him as the dragons regrouped, flying low and fast over the megaliths, passing the isolated lead groups of Outlander strongmen.
Bander rose quickly on the far side of the canyon, rejoining his Neutat patrol as it merged with Nema and Bergulo’s formations. Bander dropped Kema onto Nema’s saddle and resumed his lead position in their retreating formation.
For once, the two brothers held off their bickering as Kema, still shaken from his near-death fall, clung to Nema’s shoulders.
“Call in,” Terith shouted. “Bergulo, Nema—how many returned?”
But even as the teams of dragons converged in the gathering dark, it was clear that some were missing.
“All accounted for,” Bergulo said, “except Erim.”
“We lost Trip in the fire cyclone,” Nema reported. “Just couldn’t—” His voice trailed off, choked by emotion. Nema would have a hard time forgiving himself for the loss of a brother from Neutat. Trip’s body forever claimed by the deep. His witty jokes and cheerful courage would never lighten hearts again in Neutat.
As they beat their wings in the migratory rhythm toward the crossroads, Rindl’s group closed from the south. “All returned,” he called out, though no cheer echoed back from his men.
Terith couldn’t help but notice that Rindl rode uneasily.
When they had outpaced the last of the fleet-footed Outlander scout patrols, Rindl brought his own fang-toothed strythe close to Bander.
“The horde at Erden is mostly trapped. As for the braves already on the megaliths, once we get the st
one bridges down at the crossroads first, they’ll be trapped as well. The Outlanders will have to cut lumber to put in temporary bridges. That could take up to a week if we’re lucky, enough time to rally support. We could even call on the Furendali for help.”
The immediate question went unanswered. Would their northern allies even come?
As their dragons sailed on the prevailing wind, Bergulo’s gruff voice carried his thoughts. “It’s the Outlanders that got through before the bridges came down that I’m worried about. The best warriors always lead out.”
“How many crossed over?” Terith wondered aloud. “Not more than a few thousand. Could be more.”
“And you think Pert will ride to stop them?” Rindl asked doubtfully. “Because if he doesn’t, the crossroads is our last chance to slow them.”
“And those bridges are stone,” Bergulo reminded. “A catapult is the only way to take them out. But without dead accurate ranging—”
“He’ll have ranging,” Terith said, “if Kyet comes through.”
“Speak of the devil,” Rindl said pointing to the south, staring into the darkness with eyes lit by the awakening. “That could be him.”
Terith banked Bander in the direction Rindl pointed. All was a shadow to him.
“Give us some light,” Terith called.
Two riders on the wings of the formation let off bursts of fire.
“There are two people on its back,” Rindl said. “One is a girl.”
“That’s them,” Terith said. “Rindl, ride down and pick up Mya. I’ll wager that Kyet’s dragon is flying on prayers.”
Rindl veered downward.
Terith turned to his sergeant-at-arms. “Bergulo, take two riders up the road to Ferrin-tat. Make sure Werm and his catapult make it safely. You have until sunrise. We can’t hold them back for long in the daylight. Go!”
Bergulo saluted, whistled his riders into formation, and burst ahead in a heavy-sounding beat of giant wings.
“Nema!” Terith called.
“Chief.”
“Go back to Erden. We need information. Hear out as much as you can from the enemy commanders. Be back by dawn.”
“I’m already there.” Nema’s dragon lifted and banked to let Kema jump onto another dragon. He waved farewell to his brother, then broke from the pattern and dropped low. Terith prayed those weren’t the last words he heard Nema say. Nema’s awakened ears could hear what no others could. He was a valuable warrior.
“Be safe,” Terith called. “May your dragon return!”
As Rindl came back into formation with Mya seated behind him on his saddle, Terith left the group to come wingtip to wingtip with Kyet.
“What news?”
“The place of resort was empty, except the sick and the old ones who couldn’t move on their own. They said two dragon riders came and ordered everybody out to shore up the bridges. Nobody seemed to know anything about the invasion.”
“Put the bridges back up!” Terith said. “But we’ve all been out risking our lives to cut them down!”
Kyet’s young voice shook with anxiety. “I flew on to Neutat to spy out the riders they were talking about. I put down outside the village and watched. They were crazed, stomping about on their dragons, barking orders, threatening the villagers.”
“Who were they?”
“Southerners by accent. I got close enough once to hear them shouting. But he saw me. I had to retreat into the forest. Once I lost him, I doubled back and found Mya at the water lift. We only just escaped.”
“Good man,” Terith said. He’s only fourteen—incredible, really.
“Chief, those riders,” Kyet began, “they weren’t on orders from Ferrin—I mean you—were they?”
Terith shook his head. “No.”
“But I can’t imagine what they were trying to accomplish. Neutat is so far out of the way.”
Terith sighed heavily. “There is another way onto the megaliths besides Erden.”
“There is?”
“Toran’s trail. It leads from the Outlands down into the Montas. The trail cut into the cliffside, hidden by overhanging ivy. The bridges are below the fog. Only champions know its course.”
Kyet’s exhausted expression grew confused. “But the Outlanders can’t know about the trail. No champion would—” his voice broke off. He turned to Terith with a look that matched Terith’s own horror. “Pert!”
“It looks like we’ll be on our own at the crossroads,” Terith said warily. “Save your strength. This battle is just the beginning.”
Chapter 21
Erdali Realm. Citadel of Toran.
Following her late night, near-death experience, Reann saw nothing of Verick for most of the day, which only made things worse. Did he know about her? Was he laying a trap?
Not knowing what Verick was doing was the worst possible situation for Reann. Two discoveries had cut him in twenty-four hours. The first came in the dinner conversation with the fur trader who claimed Toran was innocent in the death of the Rubani traitors, making Verick’s vendetta baseless. The second was finding his father’s portrait in the library. Somebody knew his identity.
Like a wounded animal, cornered and confused, Verick could be dangerous, unpredictable.
By evening Reann was desperate to know what he was up to and, more than that, how he felt. Was he alone, angry, in denial, enraged? Did he blame her? Reann’s heart ached for Verick as much as for her own plight—living in fear, his life’s purpose a flickering flame of uncertainty. She ignored reminders from her conscience that her growing desire to find him was not merely self-preservation. She had other feelings, feelings that could undo her at the worst moment.
Verick wasn’t in the castle. She’d verified that a half dozen times, and she knew all the best hiding places.
Where do people go when they can’t swallow their problems?
The answer was in the question.
The pub.
If Verick was at the tavern in the village, he’d be inebriated and loose lipped. He might say something indiscreet. Or else he might be hiring thugs to kidnap her. Whatever he was up to, she had to know about it—for her own safety, and possibly that of her half siblings.
She only lacked an excuse to leave the castle and a disguise.
After some snooping, Reann found Ret in the courtyard aviary. She watched him feeding the hawks from outside the enclosure. Knotted cords formed a net that draped over a trio of large oaks with a small hut on one side for shade. Its roof was streaked with white trails of bird bombings. Several of Toran’s hunting falcons were perched on the tree branches.
The raptors lived for twenty years or more, Reann recalled. With regret, she considered that some of them might have spent more time with Toran than she had.
Reann looked on, trying to keep as dignified an expression as she could manage. The aviary still terrified her.
Ret dumped a bucket of dead mice on the floor. The hawks did not jump on the lifeless prey immediately. They had some pride. Perhaps when Ret wasn’t around they would excuse themselves to dispose of the unworthy offering.
“Where did you get all those dead mice?” Reann asked.
Ret nearly jumped out of his boots. “Where did you come from?”
“I asked first.”
“Your cat leaves them at my front door,” Ret said as he emerged from the hut. “He thinks it’s funny. I get a half dozen every night.”
“Gross,” Reann said.
“Out with it,” Ret said, picking up his mandolin near the door. “What do you want?”
“Did you play at cards all night again?” Reann accused. “You’re awful ornery.”
“I was finishing my chores you said you would do.”
“I’ll make it up to you,” Reann answered swiftly. “Are you running errands in the village tonight?”
“Yeah. Food doesn’t appear magically.”
“Let me make your rounds for you. Go play cards or wrestle or whatever the boys are doing tonight.”
Ret looked sidelong at Reann and plucked a strange note on the mandolin. He cocked an eyebrow and waited for her explanation.
“Just tell me your route, and I’ll do the pickup.” She did her best to sound matter-of-fact.
Ret laughed. “Well, you’re lucky. There’s an order at the bakery. Bread is light enough for you haul.”
“That’s it?”
Ret shrugged. “Too bad it’s not the mill; you would have had loads of fun with the cart.”
“Why?”
“Flour isn’t as light as looks,” he said, flexing his lanky arms. “Where do you think I get these?”
“Are you sure you’re flexing?” Reann teased.
“The baker closes shop at seven,” Ret reminded as he turned and walked back toward the castle, “so he won’t sell you any old bread until then. And the gate closes at eight. Don’t be slow or you’ll get to sleep with the rats outside of it.”
Frankly, that’s the least of my worries.
Going outside the castle gates after dark wasn’t exactly on the smart side. Her self-preservation alarms were sounding again, like when she had snuck into Verick’s room. But either the alarms were getting quieter or she was growing deaf to the almost constant nagging.
I’m not a little girl anymore.
At seven o’clock Reann pushed the handle of Ret’s two-wheeled cart out the castle gate. She wore a hooded cloak that she had transformed from a furniture cover. The sky would be dark soon and then nobody would recognize her anyway.
“What’s the occasion, Reann?” the guard at the gate jested, blocking her exit. “You going to a funeral?”
“The almanac says rain tonight,” Reann said. “If it rains, I have to cover the bread.”
The guard looked up at the gray sky and shrugged. “You know you make an excellent hag dressed like that.”