Dragonsbane

by Shae Ford

  And so Titus had risen.

  Crevan kept the title warlord, but it was only a name: Titus was the true commander of Midlan’s army. Under his guidance, they beat the rebels back. The Falsewright himself had quaked rather than return to the fortress. It was by Titus’s skill alone that Midlan was saved. But just when he was about to seal the Kingdom’s fate, Setheran had returned.

  In the final battle, Titus had the Falsewright trapped. The glory was his for the taking — the most powerful of all whisperers was going to die by his sword. Then Setheran and his pet had swooped in and stolen it out from under him. He’d snatched Titus’s honor away and in a single act, undone all his years of fighting.

  No one would ever remember what humans had sacrificed for the Kingdom. They would sing only of Setheran the Wright.

  Now Setheran’s flesh and blood stood before him. There was no mistaking it. Every defiant edge of his features lined up so perfectly with the memories of the face that tarnished his throne. Setheran was making one final move, a last thrust from the grave.

  But he would fail.

  The savages would wilt beneath Titus’s poison and drench the summit with their gore — not a soul across the six regions would remember that the whisperers had ever existed. Then Setheran’s son would be made to watch as his companions were lined up and destroyed; he would be forced to gaze upon the last flickering lights of their eyes, to hear their terrified screams … to know that he’d brought them to their deaths.

  Then at last, Titus would purge Setheran’s blood from the earth. Flames would devour each crimson drop and he would scatter every flake of the Wright’s ashes into the northern seas.

  Yes … the hour had come.

  Titus smiled. He shoved Amos forward, into his soldiers’ hands. “Very well, whisperer. Come take your grandfather — and then you and your army will leave my mountains and never return.”

  The soldiers marched towards him slowly. The Wright’s eyes were so set on Amos that he didn’t see the trap until it was already too late. An archer rose from the ramparts. He aimed carefully and at the slightest tilt of Titus’s chin, he fired.

  The Wright heard the bowstring. He tried to twist out of the arrow’s path but its head ripped across the top of his arm. Titus watched hungrily as red seeped out into the leather of his tunic. The Wright’s hand trembled as he clutched his wound. His eyes widened in shock as the mindrot took his strength.

  “Grab him,” Titus said, and two soldiers scooped his body up. He thrust a finger at Amos. “See to it that he lives, crow. I want the Wright to watch as I destroy his army.” As Titus marched inside the fortress, he arched his neck to the ramparts and bellowed: “Seal the gates, ready the catapults. Bare your teeth, my wolves —drink your enemies’ blood!”

  *******

  Kael focused on hanging as limply as possible as the soldiers dragged him away. They passed through the gates and into a tunnel — the belly of a short, thick tower that sat at the front of the walls.

  The tower arched over the ramp and extended a good ways into the stone village beyond. A line of men rushed by, sap-filled clay jars clutched in either hand. Kael pretended to lurch back in pain and watched as they deposited the jars against an arch of the tower’s wall — settling them alongside hundreds of others.

  The Earl had packed the only entrance into Thanehold with enough firebombs to thaw the mountains’ breath. With both the gates and the doors into the stone village sealed, the tower had become something like an enormous, sap-filled jar. One spark, and it would erupt with enough force to bury anybody caught beneath it …

  And he realized with a jolt that must’ve been precisely what Titus had planned.

  He watched out of the corner of his eye as the Earl climbed the tower’s steps and disappeared into the upper level — the one he remembered that would lead onto the ramparts. Titus would probably wait in the loaded tower for as long as possible, just to make certain he lured the wildmen in.

  It was an extremely dangerous plan, but one that was bound to work. He expected no less from the man who’d brought the Kingdom to its knees.

  The soldiers carried him quickly through the stone village. The squat houses had been converted into barracks for Titus’s army. Shouts rang out from every direction as the Earl’s men prepared themselves for battle. Kael hung limply when the soldiers dragged him into the keep, watching as the passageways twisted by, trying to keep track of where he was.

  The soldiers hauled him up a narrow flight of stairs and into a room at the back of the fortress. “Lock them up tight,” one of the soldiers hissed as they threw Kael inside. Amos muttered a curse as he was shoved in behind him. “Don’t open the door a crack until his Earlship sends for you.”

  The door slammed, and Kael listened intently as the soldiers argued on the other side:

  “… got a bad feeling about this. We ought to just gut him.”

  “His Earlship wants him alive, something about making him watch …”

  There was silence for a moment as the guards marched away. Kael flinched when Amos grabbed his wound. His weathered hands shook as he inspected the thin scrape on the top of Kael’s arm. “Confound it, boy! What were you thinking? I’m not worth dying over. And I’m certainly not worth what Titus is going to do —”

  “I’m all right, grandfather,” Kael said.

  He pulled gently out of Amos’s grasp and leapt to his feet. The chamber door was made of solid wood. He got down on his belly and saw the shadows of two feet beneath its bottom crack. Then very quietly, he flattened the hinges, molding them so that the door wouldn’t open.

  When he turned, Amos was staring at him in shock. “You’re not poisoned?”

  “Why would I be? It’s only a bit of night-finger juice.”

  Kael couldn’t help but smile when he thought back to what he’d done: how he’d poured the mindrot into the cottage hearth and let the flames devour it, how Morris had held the vial wedged between his nubs as Kael crushed the night-finger’s bright purple juice into it … how one small gift from a child had become the weapon he needed to topple the Earl of the Unforgivable Mountains.

  And in that moment, he knew he owed Griffith a great debt.

  “Are you well?”

  “I’m alive and in one piece, if that’s what you’re asking.” Amos’s sharp brown eyes flicked over Kael once more, and the lines around his mouth thinned as his lips drew tight. “I’d hoped you wouldn’t come back here.”

  “Well, I did. I’m not going to leave you to rot.”

  “I’m old as they come, boy! The rotting is the only thing I’ve got left to look forward to. You ought to have gone and made a life for yourself. You ought to have left this whole mess behind.”

  “I will,” Kael promised as he marched to the back wall. “Just as soon as I’ve taken care of Titus, you and I will go on our way.”

  He ignored Amos’s muttering and focused on the wall. It bent under his hands, molding back until winter burst in. He squinted against the stabbing winds and the lashing of the snow as he widened the hole to something a man could squeeze through. He leaned out to get his bearings — only to nearly butt heads with a craftsman.

  “Ha! I told you they’d stuff him in the larders,” he called triumphantly behind him.

  A chorus of howls answered and Kael saw a whole line of craftsmen waiting on the slope beneath him. The whole back end of the castle jutted out over The Drop, suspended over an infinite fall to the northern seas by little more than a ledge of stone-ice. It was a slick, jagged climb — nothing a human could’ve scaled. But under the craftsmen’s hands, a strip of the angry blue ledge had been smoothed into a ramp.

  The craftsmen clambered along their ramp and into the hole Kael had made for them. Their painted faces were frosted over, their breaths came out sharply — and their grins couldn’t possibly have been any wider.

  “You were right,” one of them panted. “The Man of Wolves has his eyes set on the walls. He never thought to check hi
s back.”

  He’d never thought to check because he’d been certain the wildmen wouldn’t be able to think on their own. Titus was still treating them like children: he expected them to charge straight for his gates and never give any thought to strategy. So Kael was giving him exactly what he expected.

  He was about to give the order to press on when Elena slipped in at the back of the craftsmen’s line. “Jake said you might need someone who knows how to move quietly,” she said, eyes darting over her mask to take in the room. “So, here I am.”

  He led her over to Amos — who was scowling at the craftsmen. “I can’t believe you brought this lot with you. I can’t believe you got them to come with you!”

  Kael didn’t have time to explain. If the craftsmen were already here, it meant they’d have to pick up their feet. “Do you know where Titus is keeping his other prisoners?”

  Amos pointed. “Two rooms down.” He watched in amazement as the craftsmen began digging a hole out of the next wall.

  Kael latched Amos’s weathered fingers around Elena’s arm. “Take him back to Jake — don’t let him out of your sight. I’ll join you as soon as I can.”

  Amos looked as if he was about to argue when a low, groaning noise came from the back wall. It made the floors tremble and sent grit raining down from the ceiling. “What in Kingdom’s name was that?” Amos sputtered.

  Kael grinned; the molten beast swelled hungrily inside its chest. “It’s the song of my craftsmen.”

  *******

  Titus climbed the tower’s weatherworn steps, bellowing orders as he marched. A set of narrow windows ringed its top. From here, he could see the entire battlefield spread out before him. He paced around the windows, taking note of the rampart doors on either side.

  Those poor, fumbling savages hadn’t learned a thing from their last beating. Their forces hurled themselves uselessly against his walls, wasting their breath in a wholly unimaginative attack.

  The seas men lined archers up against his eastern edge, while the giants charged the western. The main force stood directly before his gates — led by the Dragongirl and a female savage who wielded a two-headed axe. He remembered her as the one who’d begged him to call off his attack.

  She’d gotten no mercy the first time, and she would get no mercy the second.

  Titus closed his eyes and touched his collar, letting the windows of his falcons overtake his vision. They circled the battlefield and watched the Wright’s army through unblinking eyes.

  The seas men’s volley was merely a distraction. They stood well out of the reach of Titus’s archers and their arrows clattered harmlessly against the castle walls, whipped away by the howling winds. His falcon sharpened its gaze at the wall’s base, where a handful of savages were using the pirates’ attack as an opportunity to try and scale the mortar.

  “Eastern wall — a volley over the edge!” Titus commanded. He watched as his soldiers leaned over the walls and sent their arrows straight down.

  The savages managed to dodge and went sprinting back to the seas men, their eyes wide with fear.

  A few slings from the catapult kept the giants at bay. Those stupid oafs yelped and scattered when the first of the firebombs landed. They lumbered away until they stood safely at the edge of his range. One of them — their leader, judging by how much he bellowed — was several heads shorter than the rest. He also appeared to be drunk.

  Titus watched the clumsy movements of the giant-leader’s scythe and nearly rolled his eyes at how easy it was going to be. The giants might’ve been able to stand out of reach of his catapults, but their thick legs had no chance against his beasts. They would be overtaken and torn to shreds by evening.

  Yes, the two edges of the Wright’s army would be easy prey for Titus’s wolves. The only real challenge of it all would be in dealing with the center.

  Wedged in the middle of the three forces was the head led by the Dragongirl. Her savages had their eyes locked on the front gates. He watched in interest as some of them scooped up the blue stone at the base of the ridge. They molded it in their hands like clumps of snow before tossing it to others — who hurled them directly at Titus’s gates.

  He grinned as he watched large chunks of the wood splinter and fall away. The savages were going to make quick work of the gates. They’d be through in less than an hour’s time. He thought it was a pity that whisperers couldn’t be magicked into his service. There was no end to what he might accomplish, had he been able to control them as easily as he controlled his beasts.

  The Dragongirl paced with her white sword drawn, bellowing orders to the craftsmen — while the woman with the two-headed axe stalked behind the warriors.

  Her stare was fixed on Titus. It was strange to watch from above, to be able to see the fury in her glare and see himself through the window’s grate — calm and close-eyed.

  It’d been so easy to crumple her before. The moment she’d seen her people torn to shreds, she’d given up the fight. He’d expected her to be more cautious at this second meeting. The fact that her warriors stood so far from the gates told him that she was being careful.

  But once the gates splintered and gave way, the temptation would be far too great. There’d be nothing left in her way, nothing to stop the fury behind those eyes from spilling out. She’d chase after her rage, follow it straight through the tower’s maw.

  Titus would let her pass … but the savages behind her wouldn’t be so lucky.

  When she saw her army erupt in flame, she would be broken. She’d stare in shock as their blackened, mangled bodies were scattered across the ridge. She would lose her voice, and the remainder of the savages would lose their leader.

  His beasts would rain terror down upon them. They would devour the giants and the seas men. The rest of the savages would fall to a slew of poisoned arrows. Whatever remained of the Wright’s army would be driven into the frozen wastes, where winter would consume them. Titus would win this battle with a single blow — a single, calculated blast.

  A screech sounded high above him, and Titus’s eyes locked onto the window of one of his falcons. It circled the back wall of his keep. While his eyes had been on the giants’ attack, a band of savages had darted out from behind their hulking shoulders.

  They’d scurried between frosted boulders until they reached the back wall. Now they’d begun to scale the blue rock beneath the keep. Their hands worked with furious speed: flattening the jagged crests, digging a sloping path up towards the keep’s base.

  “Clever little savages,” Titus murmured as he watched them reach the stone. Then he switched to a different window — one that overlooked a small army of beasts waiting in the courtyard. He found the set of eyes that towered above the rest and forced his command into them. “To the keep, Marc! Find those little rats and crush their skulls. Don’t let them free the Wright!”

  *******

  Screams bounced off the walls. The shadows beneath the door’s crack vanished as the soldier dove from his post. Seconds later, something heavy slammed into the door — testing its flattened hinges.

  Kael stood just beyond the opening at the edge of the ramp. On his right, the villagers were scrambling down the slope to safety. On his left, a large group of craftsmen had all but disappeared into the rock. They dug like wolves, tearing huge chunks of stone-ice out from beneath the keep’s base and flinging it behind them, straight into the bottomless mouth of The Drop.

  They moved against the ledge like a gigantic axe: the craftsmen chipped away, widening the split between in keep’s foundation and the ledge. It wasn’t long before the weight of the keep began to put strain on the thin layer of stone-ice left at its base. The whole tower groaned dangerously; its broken top shifted against the shrieks of the wind.

  Now the V that the craftsmen dug had grown so wide that large chunks of stone-ice began cracking from the ceiling. The keep moaned, swaying like a tree. Kael glanced up to see how much longer they might have to dig — and instead, he saw quickly
that their time was up.

  Screams split the air above them as Titus’s monsters clambered over the keep’s top. They galloped down the walls on all fours, digging in with their dagger-like claws. Their twisted muscles swelled against the pull of The Drop. Thick streams of white trailed from between their fangs as they howled for blood.

  Kael watched the tower sway and groaned when he realized what would happen when the monsters reached the keep’s base — when their collective, thundering weight put strain on the tower’s weakness.

  There was no time to waste.

  “Move!” he roared, waving to the craftsmen.

  They scrambled out from the V and charged down the ramp. Kael stayed to help pull the last of the villagers out of the keep. Their panicked faces passed him in a blur. He could hear the monsters’ panting growing closer above him. And to make matters worse, whatever was crashing into the door was nearly through: the whole thing held on by its latch and middle hinge.

  No sooner had Kael pulled the last of the villagers through the wall than the door broke — and Marc came bursting out.

  Kael dove beneath his massive claws and back into the keep just as Titus’s monsters reached its base. The floors rocked like a ship caught in a tempest. He heard the panicked wails of beasts and saw several of their twisted bodies fall into The Drop as the tower lurched. A mighty crack split the floors into two. He saw the bristled end of Marc’s tail disappearing over the top of the hole, and Kael knew he had no choice but to run.

  All the images he’d seen in the craftsmen’s memories burst to the front of his mind, jolted to life by his panic. His legs thundered beneath him. His muscles bent and twisted, carrying him over man-wide splits in the floor — curving as the keep tilted.

  The floors became the walls. The walls became the floors. Kael leapt over torch sconces. He ducked into an enclave to avoid a wave of soldiers. They screamed and fell down the hall, dragged by the weight of their armor. One man hurtled straight into the edge of the enclave. Kael heard a clang and a sickening crunch as The Drop swept the body away.