Rebellion: I, Dragon Book 2

by Nathan Roden

  “I can ride by myself.”

  “You’re blind, Caleb.”

  “Yes, I am. Unless you fetch a blind horse, there will not be a problem.”

  “I must insist,” Finn said. “We may need another bow.”

  Fifty-Seven

  The boys pulled the heavy body behind the blacksmith’s shed. They wiped their tears on their sleeves.

  Raynard turned the corner.

  “Bloody hell—?”

  Sterling pulled Raynard aside.

  “It is just as I have suspected. Lucien’s outburst has emboldened others. The stench of revolution has not only reared its ugly head; it spreads like an unabated fire. I will put an end to it.”

  “Immediately.”

  Raynard nodded. He was virtually the equal of Sterling in power and authority, but he knew that he derived his status only as Sterling’s right-hand man.

  Especially when Sterling’s face looked the way it did that morning.

  Raynard had seen what Sterling was capable of. He was convinced that if Sterling had a soul at all, it was the darkest shade of black.

  “Where is Dathien?” Sterling asked.

  “The last time I saw him, he was wandering the King’s Road, on the east end of the village. He mumbled words that I couldn’t understand—like he was in a trance. I swear by the gods, I cannot wait until that freak is—”

  “Find him,” Sterling said. “I want you to ride to Islemar. Take our biggest horse. If you find Dathien, take him with you.”

  Raynard exhaled.

  “I can bring the king and queen back here, straightaway—without the aid of that giant freak.”

  Sterling stared out the window.

  “It is a feeling I have…”

  “Sterling, the wizard is leaving a trail of bodies in his wake! How many more are we to ignore before he kills the dragon?”

  “Don’t tell me you are growing soft, Captain!” Sterling snapped.

  “You know me better than that,” Raynard said. “But if we sanction killings inside the village of Islemar—”

  “Anyone who impedes our attempts to find that cursed beast is no friend of the kingdom!”

  “Think about it, Sterling. The most well-liked and respected man in this land has sworn his loyalty to the throne. He rules over the seaports with his own iron fist—filling our pockets without the need for us to lift a finger! If your…your monster decides to go on a killing rampage right in Lamont’s face, how can we expect things to remain the same?”

  Sterling scowled. He raised his right hand in front of him and squeezed his fist.

  “Lamont,” he said between clenched teeth. “That wretched family is up to something—I can feel it!”

  “How I would like to squeeze the breath from every last one of them—including our precious queen.”

  “No, make that, especially, our precious queen.”

  Raynard and six of his men rode east, to Islemar. Near the midway point, they caught up with Dathien. The giant walked at a pace almost equal to that of a horse’s trot. Raynard pulled alongside the wizard. Dathien remained focused on the road ahead.

  “Where are you going?” Raynard asked.

  “I do not answer to you.”

  “Very well,” Raynard said. “We ride for Islemar, on Sterling’s orders. I brought along a horse—of freakish size.”

  Dathien snapped his head around and glared at Raynard.

  “Why has Sterling sent you?”

  Raynard sighed.

  “To bring home the king and queen, who seem to have forgotten where their thrones are. Have you seen Lucien?”

  Dathien grunted.

  “I see only backs and legs as your people flee from my path. As it should be.”

  “Do you want the horse or not?” Raynard asked.

  Dathien stopped and turned around, causing the six other soldiers to veer off the road to miss him. Dathien snatched the reins of the horse, swung his leg over it and rode away at full speed.

  “Wait—!” Raynard swore and shook his head.

  Raynard sighed and dismounted. He led his horse to a field of tall grass.

  “My Lord,” a soldier asked. “Should we all dismount?”

  “Yes,” Raynard said. “We may as well camp here tonight. If the giant kills someone at Islemar, I don’t want to be anywhere near the place. We will continue in the morning.”

  Some of the men hunted rabbits and deer. A few fished in a nearby stream. Raynard looked to the sky when the sound of thunder rocked the earth.

  “Hmmm.”

  ****

  Oliver stood up and stretched. He pushed a fist against the small of his back. It had been a while since he had slept on the ground. He had not slept well at all, especially after learning that the king talked in his sleep.

  Oliver was amused at first. But he soon grew horrified by the demons that haunted Lucien.

  “It’s morning, my king. I have some jerky if you’re hungry. We can look forward a hot meal inside the vill—”

  Oliver stopped at the sound of hoof-beats.

  What now? Oliver thought.

  Oh, no. Raynard. And more soldiers.

  ****

  Raynard and his men came to the gates of Islemar. Two wide-eyed guards stood there. The giant horse was tied up nearby.

  “The giant,” Raynard said. “Where did he go?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  “You are guardians of our most valuable assets,” Raynard said. “Did you ask him his business?”

  “Of course, we did. He didn’t say.”

  “That horse will need food and water. And lots of it,” Raynard said. “Bring it back here when you’re finished.”

  The guards nodded.

  “You won’t let him kill anyone, will you, My Lord?”

  Raynard glared and motioned his men inside the gates.

  Fifty-Eight

  The soldiers were not at all happy to alert their Captain. He was rarely in a good mood, and never before breakfast and heavy doses of coffee or tea.

  “This had better be good,” he growled as he pulled on his coat in the cold, early morning mist.

  “Captain, the morning guard staff for the southwest tower did not show up. Their beds are made, and no one has seen them.”

  “Names?”

  “Lucas Brand and Timothy Stoddard, My Lord.”

  “Do these two know each other?”

  “I don’t believe so, My Lord. They are not from the same villages.”

  “The camp is being searched, I presume.”

  “Yes, My Lord.”

  The Captain stared into the darkness.

  “Send two teams south at dawn. Send another up the rope ladders of the western wall. Those are in need of inspection, anyway.”

  “Yes, My Lord.”

  “And make certain that the men go nowhere near the mouth of the canyon. We have many new recruits. I do not want to have to explain to Sterling or Raynard that we have cut our own men into pieces.”

  Two hours later, the search party returned with news for the Captain.

  The nervous corporal stood before the Captain and recited the facts as he knew them.

  “We found three bodies, Captain. Lucas Brand was stabbed in the belly. Two young boys were found nearby. One of them was stabbed in the midsection—just like Brand. The other was killed by an arrow in his back. We discovered tracks from two horses. One returned to the south.”

  “The other moved north—past our camp.”

  The Captain swore and flung his mug of coffee as far as he could.

  “Shall we send men north?” the corporal asked.

  “No,” the Captain said. “If this Stoddard has indeed turned traitor, we still cannot spare the men to go after him.”

  The Captain rubbed his chin.

  “If those boys rode here bearing news that was worth killing for, then one rogue soldier may be the least of our concerns. Corporal, send a rider to Morgenwraithe. Tell him to speak only to Lord Sterl
ing or Captain Raynard. Have him say that there may very well be trouble brewing in the south. They are to say nothing more.”

  “Assemble a force of one hundred twenty of our best sword and bowmen, and outfit horses with provisions for a week. Send our best scout to mark a safe passage through the canyon. We leave when the scout returns.”

  The corporal saluted and turned to leave.

  “One more thing, corporal. Prepare a cannon for transport.”

  The corporal’s eyes widened. He looked afraid.

  “A cannon, My Lord?”

  “Yes, a cannon, corporal. Big, black, ugly things that go Boom!”

  “My Lord, do you…do you mean to make war with the south?”

  “No, not war. But the people of the south are simple-minded. They only understand one thing—strength. You are far too young to remember, but the south was once home to powerful magicians. And to dragons. Those days are long gone and forgotten. Kings once delivered goods to the south from the ports of Islemar; medicines and healing potions. That has all but ceased since the days of King Bailin. The people of the south have become a mystery to us. That was the reason I encouraged those two boys to keep me informed. Whatever news it was that brought them here, was enough to cost them their lives.”

  “I do not intend to repeat that mistake.”

  “My Lord—if I may speak freely?” the corporal trembled.

  The Captain scowled. He nodded.

  “My Lord, our men are not battle-tested. They are trained to the best of our abilities, but—”

  The corporal looked around and then lowered his voice.

  “We will be placing our lives in the hands of young boys who may not respond well in battle. Fear…can spread like a wildfire.”

  The Captain made no expression.

  “Your objections are duly noted, corporal.”

  “Not objections, My Lord. Merely words of caution—”

  The Captain stepped forward and backhanded the corporal’s face. He fell to the ground.

  “I said, duly noted, corporal! On your feet!”

  The corporal pushed himself up. He wiped the blood from his mouth.

  The Captain leaned forward.

  “You are an officer in the King’s Border Guard! If you ever dare to speak to me with the voice of a frightened nursemaid again, you will serve the rest of your days cleaning our privies! Do I make myself clear!”

  “Yes, My Lord.”

  Fifty-Nine

  The boy could not sleep. He thought he heard thunder in the distance. He got out of bed and tip-toed to the door, trying to keep from waking his mother.

  He cocked his head and listened to the steady “thump, thump, thump” coming from the north. The sound seemed to be coming from the road, but that made no sense to him. The night was pitch black.

  And then, he saw the faint light of a line of torches.

  And he was afraid.

  He ran to their tiny barn and quickly threw the bit and reins onto their only horse. He galloped up the road, to where he could see what was coming.

  What came was what he had feared for weeks.

  The Border Guard had entered the Southlands.

  He relaxed only a little when the procession passed his house. That good feeling disappeared completely when he saw what brought up the rear.

  A wagon—carrying a cannon.

  The boy led the horse through a back path in the woods. He came onto the road just ahead of the Army, which he estimated to be at least a hundred strong.

  He had heard that the village of Vallen lay in ruins. No one wanted to speak of what had happened. The boy feared the worst.

  And now the worst was real.

  This can only mean one thing, he thought.

  They ride for Drakal—the home of the leader of their world. The source of their strength and spirit.

  Sir Edmund Braun.

  The boy had nothing to light his way, but this did not slow him one bit. The old horse was in no condition to be driven hard, but that also did not concern the boy.

  The only thing that concerned him—was war.

  And war had come to the south. In the dead of night.

  The group stopped on the road south of Drakal.

  “You should wait here, Simon,” Roball said. “We will come for you once we meet with Sir Edmund.”

  “That would be wise,” Simon said.

  Boone took Ben’s daughter from his arms.

  “I’ll stay here, as well,” Boone said. “Along with my niece and these two.”

  Boone pointed at Angel’s grandparents.

  “In case they get any funny ideas.”

  Rolf Roball and Sir Edmund Braun embraced as old friends do.

  When they pulled apart, Sir Edmund’s bright, blue eyes went immediately to Helena.

  He crossed the room with the stride of a strong young man.

  He covered his mouth with his hand.

  “I would know you anywhere, sweet child.”

  Helena looked confused.

  “Have we met, My Lord?”

  Edmund laughed.

  “No, no, child. But many nights by the light of the fire I looked into the eyes of your father and your uncles and saw the same virtues: Strength! Defiance! The will of purpose! Of course, it goes without saying that they did not possess your beauty.”

  The old man’s face grew sad. He turned away.

  “Such a needless tragedy. A pity. You have taken up their cause, haven’t you?”

  “We have, indeed, Sir Edmund,” Lamont said. “I am Nicolas La—”

  “Lord Nicolas Lamont,” Edmund said. “Viceroy under three Morgenwraithe kings. Steward of the ports and village of Islemar. Father of the queen, and loyal to the throne currently belonging to King Lucien, the second-born son of Bailin.”

  Lamont could think of nothing to say.

  Sir Edmund smiled.

  “Do not worry. I am no wizard, and no sorcerer. But I do have an inquisitive mind as well as a number of ‘little sparrows’ who bring me news from the north.”

  “Sir Edmund,” Lamont said. “You pledged your support to Bodrick Fuller. The people of the kingdom suffer even more under the rule of Lord Sterling. The queen is with child, and we know that she carries a boy.”

  “Oh?” Edmund said. “This, I have not heard.”

  “We fear the worst from Sterling under these circumstances, Sir Edmund.”

  Edmund rubbed his chin.

  “Sterling,” he growled. He turned and spit on the floor.

  “That entire family should be purged from the face of the earth! The arrogance! The lack of humanity! The…the pure evil! To tempt the gods by spilling a sorcerer’s blood on the throne of power! They deserve to rot in the depths of hell for their deeds! And Sterling is the worst of them all—and he not even in the line of succession. Is it any wonder that I abandoned my position? That I gave up everything to distance myself from their insanity?”

  “I do not blame you for leaving, Sir Edmund,” Lamont said. “But the time will come when there is no place to hide from Sterling and his armies. And that includes the south. And Drakal.”

  “The boy-king. How old is he now?”

  “He has passed his fifteenth year,” Lamont said. “But I do not believe that matters at all.”

  “Why not? His regency has less than two years—”

  Sir Edmund’s jaw fell slack.

  “Your daughter will give birth to an heir. Sterling will…”

  Lamont nodded.

  “Sterling will kill Lucien. And Sterling will rule for another seventeen years.”

  “What has become of the first-born son of Bailin?” Edmund asked. “The one who suffered the curse at the hands of his mad mother?”

  “He is alive and well,” Lamont said.

  “You know this to be true?”

  Lamont pointed over his shoulder.

  “He waits, just outside the walls of your village.”

  Edmund’s eyes widened.

 
“Are you…are you serious?”

  Lamont made eye contact with Magdalena.

  “We have the strength of the rightful king on our side, Sir Edmund. We even have the aid of some magic—”

  Sounds of yelling and commotion came from outside.

  “I must see Sir Edmund! At once! Get your hands off of me!”

  Edmund nodded at one of his men. He opened the door. Five men held onto a boy who screamed and fought to get through them.

  Ben Blankenship pushed his way through the others.

  “Liam?”

  “Lord Blankenship! Benjamin!”

  Liam broke free from the men.

  He threw his arms around Ben, but only for a moment.

  “The Army! The Border Guard is coming! They marched all night by torchlight, at least a hundred strong!”

  “They have a cannon.”

  Sixty

  “You must stay here,” Edmund said. “My men and I will meet them on the outskirts of the village.”

  Lamont did not like it, but he nodded in agreement.

  “Ben. You must warn Simon and the others.”

  “I am going with you,” Helena said. “By the gods—the threat of war, in the presence of children.”

  The men of the Border Guard were exhausted and on edge, having marched many miles with few breaks. Most had been awake for two full days.

  Sir Edmund Braun and six of his men met the Captain on the main road.

  “What business does the Border Guard have in Drakal?” Edmund asked. “Or for that matter, south of our border at all?”

  “We provide security for the kingdom—as well as the Southlands, Sir Edmund,” the Captain said. He delighted in the look of surprise on Edmund’s face.