The gold dragon flew north over forests, small castles, and towns. At the border between Maldavia and Fregia, the landscape changed from trees into rocky terrain and snow. Steep hills dropped into deep ravines where rapids flowed, and tall pines grew densely. Smaller castles and villages appeared and faded as they flew over the eastern end of the Tangers Forest, a dense area known for its large, tusked boars, and rivers filled with trout. Beyond the forest lay Ruthenia, where Sir Roland was born, a sleepy village built at the base of the Stavehorn Mountains, which stretched for hundreds of miles to the east and west. The mountains created a natural border between Caladonia, the Magic Realms, and Skarda. Taliesin searched for the Skardan army led by Talas Kull, or the Hellirins, but saw neither army as they flew over snow-covered mountains.
As the sun reached its zenith, Bonaparte arrived at the impressive ruins of Ascalon Castle, built into the side of a mountain above a sheer drop into a deep ravine. The lake, as well as the one-hundred-foot-long waterfall, was now frozen and impossible to distinguish beneath the snow. The castle’s broken towers and fallen walls were covered by a fresh layer of snow that glistened like spilled diamonds in the sunlight. She had expected the ruins to be void of life, yet hundreds of tents were arranged around campfires, and the Skardan flag, blue with a white skull held in a bloody hand, fluttered in the chilly breeze. The Skardan warriors, dressed in fur cloaks, chainmail, and horned helmets, let out a loud cheer as the dragon descended.
With a display of agility, Bonaparte released Taliesin from his talon, pounding the air with his wings to remain in the air, long enough for her to run out from under his belly, and then landed on his feet, as a dragon-man. His wings no longer visible, the gold scales trimmed in black resembled armor, and gestured toward the Skardans.
“Greetings, Skardans!”
“Welcome home, Bonaparte,” the barbarians said, cheering.
“You see, Kull calls me ‘Bonaparte,’ and Bonaparte calls him ‘friend.’”
Taliesin smiled as she pushed open her visor. “I am glad to hear so, for he’s my friend, too,” she said. “I’m eager to find out whether Kull stopped the Hellirins from entering the mountains. Do you know if he was successful? And do you know if Ragnal took Zarnoc and Roland to Mt. Helos?”
His slanted, bright green eyes with gold pupils met her gaze, and in their depths was a kindness she had not forgotten. “Yes, to both questions,” Bonaparte said as he took her hand and placed it over his heart, which thumped like a drum beneath her palm. “I envy Sir Roland Brisbane, for I know you love him truly, Taliesin, and he loves you. Love is the only thing worth fighting for, and in the days to come, you will have to fight many in order to save the ones you love.”
“Then I can count on your continued help?”
“Of course,” the dragon-man said, bowing his head. “Forgive my delay in coming to rescue you, Taliesin; I was in the middle of negotiations with Talas Kull when I heard you call my name. I might have eaten him had he not presented me with a bottle of ink and a feather quill, which contain two ancient Lorians. I admit I was impressed when he told me he’d stolen the items from you. Do not worry about the Lorians, for they are safe in his tent. I know Kull is your cousin Prince Galinn, so instead of eating him, I invited him and his army to remain at Ascalon while he went to fetch you. You made a good impression on Kull; as he is your friend, he is mine.”
The dragon-man often referred to himself in the third person when he spoke about Bonaparte, a strange habit she’d never questioned since they first met. Nor did she ask him now why he did so—it was rather charming.
“Where is my cousin? I must speak with both of you.”
“There is much to discuss. Kull waits for us in the largest tent. Come with me, and we will make plans.” Bonaparte turned to a tall warrior with a winged helmet. “I have returned with the Raven Mistress, but Padama has fallen, and Almaric has claimed the throne; spread the word.”
Taliesin noticed many warrior women in horned helmets among the male counterparts. The Skardans treated their women as equals, and this was something she wanted for Caladonia, though she feared it might never happen, not with Almaric on the throne, and people being turned into Wolfen. As the warriors stepped aside to form an aisle, Bonaparte led Taliesin to the largest tent. Like the others scattered across the mountain, it was made with thick animal pelts.
Dragons were strange creatures, Taliesin thought, able to turn into humans at will, and her companion’s passion for gold was as strong as his desire to be loved or to wage war. She wondered if the Skardans knew about the secret staircase to the dragon’s treasure room. A quick glance toward the entrance revealed nothing, for it was blocked by snow. Kull was an honorable man, even if he was called a barbarian, and she was glad he had not broken the dragon’s trust and dug out the entrance to steal the gold; it would have been a deadly mistake.
“Kull did not rob me,” Bonaparte said, reading her thoughts. “You still have not learned to block your mind, my friend. I admit I enjoyed learning about the death of Lord Arundel, although the Cavell family members who did the deed have most certainly been killed. We must now turn our attention on Ragnal. I am certain Kull will be eager to help you, for Mt. Helos shadows his kingdom, and he has no love in this heart for the Maeceni. You will soon be reunited with your sweetheart.”
Smoke from wood fires and burnt meat assailed her nostrils. Her armored feet cracked the ice beneath them, and she kept the extra sword she had collected from the battlefield close to her chest. Stone-faced men and women stood in groups around the fires and watched Taliesin and Bonaparte approach Kull’s tent. A group of fierce, bearded, shirtless men caught Taliesin’s attention. Their torsos were covered with intricate tattoos; she imagined the women looked the same, and wondered how painful it was to obtain such a design.
The flap of the large tent was pulled aside by a tall warrior in a white-winged helmet holding a spear. Bonaparte led Taliesin inside to find Kull seated in a chair draped with pelts, a fur cloak wrapped around his armored shoulders, drinking from a horn. The interior was comfortable and warm, with a bed made of furs and a crudely-made wooden table with stumps used as chairs. Rocks surrounded a fire pit, and smoke escaped through a hole at the center of the tent. Taliesin placed the sword on the table as Kull stood and embraced her. Kull smelled like wood smoke and rabbit, and when he released her, he gave a nod to Bonaparte and motioned for his friends to sit at the table.
“It’s about time you returned, Bonaparte. We expected you home hours ago,” Kull said, and he glanced at Taliesin. “You look quite pale, cousin. It is not the ride here that troubles you—what has happened?”
“Almaric has taken Tantalon Castle and killed Dinadan, Hercule, Elric, Ungus, and my…my mother.” Taliesin sank onto a stump, unable to contain her tears, and wiped them away with the back of her gauntlet. Ringerike tapped her back, offering its silent support, and she gratefully accepted a horn Kull filled with mead. She guzzled the brew and found it less sweet than baju, palatable enough for her to consume nearly the entire contents. “If Bonaparte hadn’t come for me, I would most likely be Almaric’s prisoner…and forced to wed and bed him.”
“So, my older brother is now king. My father must be dead, as well. I trust you killed Arundel, or you would not have made it here. What about Lykus and the other dukes and lords? Are they all dead?”
“Do not be in such a rush, Kull. Allow me to tell you how Arundel was killed so I may revel in it one more time. He was stabbed countless times by the Cavell family, his scribe, and his Councilors,” the dragon replied, smiling. “The old Tritone is dead, many times over, and Bonaparte killed the Eagle and Wolf heirs and the Wolf Pack captain. Bonaparte also killed many Eagles and Wolves.”
Kull lifted his horn. “Well, it sounds like you had all the fun,” he said. “I’m sorry I missed it. But, what happened to Chief Lykus and the other dukes? I have not yet been able to send more men to Wolf’s Den, so the Wolf Clan is on my mind.”
“Lykus, Volund, Vortigern, and Peergynt are alive and well,” Taliesin said. “We think Andre Rigelus escaped with many of the White Stags, Blue Stars, and Thule knights. They were heading toward Fregia, but we came straight here and didn’t stay to escort them to the border. It gets worse, Kull. Zarnoc, Roland, Shan Octavio, Sertorius, and many of my other friends were abducted by Ragnal. I need your help to rescue them, and I need to know what has happened to the Hellirins.”
“Taken to Mt. Helos? Now this is an interesting turn of events,” Kull said, his eyes flashing. “You are safe now, cousin. My men will bring you food while we drink mead and talk about how to gain entrance into the home of the gods. As for the Hellirins, we closed the northern pass, but there are many ways through the Stavehorn Mountains. For now, my scouts report the enemy has not entered Caladonia or Skarda. I have men placed on each mountain peak, and if the Hellirins are spotted, they will light signal fires that can be seen from Ascalon.”
“You think of everything,” Taliesin said.
It was too cold in the tent to remove her armor, and when Kull noticed she was shivering, he stood, and walked over to place his own fur cloak around her shoulders. He moved to the fire, tossed on more logs, and returned to the table to stare at the handsome sword on the table. Bonaparte sat across from the pair, and his eyes widened when Kull slid his finger along the blade and a trickle of red flame appeared.
“What have you there, cousin?”
“This is Flamberge. Since Duke Elric is dead, I thought you might like to have it, cousin. You may need it to fight King Almaric or General Folando. It does cause an unquenchable thirst, but as you like drinking mead so much, I imagine you won’t find that a hardship.”
“I do not like magic, Taliesin,” Kull said, “and you know this. Fortunately, I like to drink. I accept your gift. By the way, your gauntlets are Lorian—I recognize them. They belong to King Boran, or at least they did.”
Taliesin nodded. “I took them off the battlefield,” she said, not elaborating.
“What happened to Grand Master Banik Dzobian?” Kull asked. “I never liked that man. I hid from him whenever he visited Tantalon Castle during my younger years. He liked to beat his squires with a stick.”
“Dead,” the dragon-man rumbled. “Duke Fakar, his cousin, is also dead. Not everyone in the castle was slain. I happen to know two swans, one white and one black, flew from Tantalon Castle during the battle, and fled to Penkill Castle. They are two of your friends, Taliesin; Rook and Wren have made it there safely.”
“Thank you for telling me, Bonaparte,” she said, wondering when they’d be served food. Her stomach growled, and the bed looked comfortable; she wanted to eat and sleep. “If I have forgotten anyone, please tell me. My mind feels like mush at the moment, and I don’t know how helpful I’d be planning a siege on Mt. Helos.”
“Food is here,” Kull announced.
A young man with a long blond braid and a woman in leather armor entered the tent. The man carried a tray with a plate of roasted game and another of uncooked meat, chunks of cheese, and hard bread. His companion placed two flasks on the table; one smelled like honey, the other of grapes, and Taliesin knew they were mead and wine.
Kull lifted his horn high. “To friends,” he said and drank. Taliesin lifted her horn, as did Bonaparte, they tapped them together, drank the last of the mead in the horns, and held them out to the woman, who refilled them from the flask. The warrior maiden kept glancing at Kull, but he avoided eye contact, and Taliesin wondered if she was his lover. The way she glared at Taliesin indicated the relationship was something the woman only dreamed about having with Kull, or he would have shown more interest in her. Unless ignoring an interested woman was a part of Skardan courtship, which seemed quite unusual. Had Taliesin been the maiden, she would have let Kull know how she felt, for life was too short to play games.
“Good. Food,” Bonaparte said, as he stared at the plates of meat. “You have brought me raw venison, my favorite.” He grabbed a shank and started to gnaw. “Just the way I like it—raw and bloody.”
“Eat your fill. Drink all the Skardan mead or Bavol wine you can hold,” Kull said in a boisterous tone. “Supplies, we have in abundance. We were just about to close Everclear Pass when Bonaparte arrived and offered his help. The dragon started an avalanche, and left us to climb this mountain, which proved a great challenge for my warriors. Once here, we considered eating the dragon and roasting his carcass over a fire.” He laughed as he winked at Taliesin.
“I would have eaten the Skardans, but their armor sticks in my teeth,” Bonaparte said, between bites. “Tell this wild man what happened during the meeting of the High Council, for stories always sound better when told over a meal.”
“Tell me about the vote,” Kull said as he helped himself to a piece of stewed rabbit. “I remember what the Moon Chamber looks like, and the U-shaped table, and I know how my grandfather enjoyed presiding over the court. No doubt he used his cane whenever anyone spoke out of turn, for if the council was summoned, someone must have demanded the Old Laws be reinstated. Am I right?”
“Yes,” Taliesin said. “I don’t want to make this a long story, so I’ll begin when Zarnoc arrived at court with my friends. My mother was the one who suggested Calaburn be used to pick the next Caladonia king. You know about the Traveling Tower, and Calaburn was inside. When Zarnoc and my friends, including Roland and Sertorius, entered the tower, Almaric held me back. He had to know it was a trap, for the moment the door closed, the Traveling Tower vanished and chaos ensued. Dinadan crowned himself king, and Almaric stormed off to begin his assault on the city. During the madness, I summoned Bonaparte.”
“Navenna helped Ragnal set the trap,” the dragon said. “I can always tell when the Maeceni are out and about, and I smelled them the moment I arrived. You might not have seen them at the castle, Taliesin, but they were there. Had I not arrived when I did, you would now be their prisoner.”
“I know Mt. Helos quite well,” Kull said. “Please eat, Taliesin. I do not need to be entertained further, for I can well imagine the rest. And, if you don’t eat soon, the dragon is going to eat everything on the table.”
“I am not.”
“You most certainly are, you glutton.”
“Barbarian.”
“Scaly-back pig.”
Amused at their friendly banter, Taliesin set her drinking horn on a metal stand and ate roasted venison with her fingers. It must have had some flavor, but she did not taste a thing as she chewed and swallowed fast. She ate to keep away her sorrows, for she feared she might cry if she talked about either Roland or Zarnoc, and crying before a barbarian king and a dragon would be embarrassing.
“What happened at Wolf’s Den?” she asked. Both men stared at her far more intently than she liked. “Come now. I was told thousands of Wolfen attacked the fortress. You left one hundred men to help the Red Cobras, Kull. Have you had any word from them? Bonaparte, what about you?”
Her cousin glanced at the dragon, the source of all information. Dragons were able to speak to all manner of animals, and Bonaparte had to know what was going on in Scrydon. Taliesin suspected it was good news by the expression on the dragon’s exotic, dark face.
“Captain Ramla still holds the fortress,” Bonaparte said and took a sip of wine. “An owl told me the Wolf Clan has attacked day and night for the last few days. Of course, you could ask the birds what has happened too, Taliesin; you have the same ability I do and can talk to animals. I might mention your little wolf pack, led by the black wolf, Korax, has grown larger since you left their company. The wild wolves help kill the Wolf Clan; it seems the alpha wolf believed you wanted his help in this regard. I have sent every wolf in Fregia and the mountains to join his pack. If Almaric and Lykus attempt to enter Fregia, they will soon find they made a tactical error.”
“I’m so tired,” Taliesin said.
“There is much still to do, my friend. Varguld is upon us, and it is Ragnal we must now deal with,�
� Bonaparte said. He tossed aside his finished horn and grabbed the flask of wine. “Anyone captured by the Wolf King is turned, but such a large army needs food, and I suspect they will spend time eating the dead before they venture north. The only way to cure this curse is to kill Varg, and the Wolfen will become human once more.”
That was the very thing she wanted the dragon to confirm, as it could be the turning point in the war. And, while Kull found it odd she did not want to celebrate Arundel’s death, she could not help mourning the dead. She had seen what the Wolf Clan had done to the Raven Clan, months ago, devouring them at Wolf’s Den, and the image burned in her mind suddenly appeared. Eating was no longer possible, and the blood that dripped from Bonaparte’s face made her turn her head to avoid gagging. It took a second to compose herself, and then she reached for her horn, refilled with mead by Kull. The man and woman had left, as silently as they’d come.
“You freed hundreds of werewolves from a second curse when you killed Cano, Taliesin,” Bonaparte said, wiping his hand across his mouth. “The ancient werewolves died, of course, but many turned back into their human forms. If they are found on the road, trying to return to their homes, the Wolfen can turn them, for they are not immune to Ragnal’s dark magic. Varg must die and so must Ragnal. I sense you are remorseful for the death of Captain Wolfgar, but he was more than two hundred years old. When Varg is slain, the older Wolfen will age quickly and die. It is the way of things, and it will happen to Lykus and his strongest fighters in the Wolf Clan.”
“But what do we do about the Hellirins?” Taliesin asked.
“Nothing,” Kull said. “General Folando turned back and was met on the road by King Boran. The Hellirins and Lorians have returned to their cities.”
Bonaparte nodded. “Queen Dehavilyn and Duchess Dolabra do not desire a war with the humans,” he added. “Since the females rule their lands, and not their lovers, they will decide what is to be done or to do nothing at all.” He stuck a long fingernail into a jar of honey, whirled it around, and stuck it in his mouth. “Not every man can be bought, Kull. Folando was promised Skarda by Almaric, and since he has not yet delivered, the general has lost nothing by sitting down to parley with the Lorians.”
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