Dragonsbane

by Shae Ford

  Kael was still several yards from the door when the keep tilted to its final angle — the only floor was suddenly a hundred feet beneath him. So he had no choice but to climb.

  His holds were clumsy, dug out by the frantic grasping of his hands. The warrior in him calmed the craftsman. His eyes found the best places to hold, his feet moved surely. The keep door was directly above him — a gap of light at the top of a cellar’s steps.

  Kael hurled himself up the final few feet. His hands grasped. His arms pulled him over. The keep was still shifting, groaning towards The Drop. His legs jolted into a sprint. He ran across the keep’s outer wall and dove for the ramparts. The guards stationed along its top cried out, scattering to avoid him.

  The world shook violently as his boots touched the ground and the keep broke free, tumbling straight into The Drop. Kael’s body flew forward — catching its weight on his shoulder and smoothing it with a roll. No sooner had he leapt to his feet than arrows hissed by his ears. He charged the Earl’s soldiers with a roar, donning his dragonscale armor as he went.

  His arm exploded through the first man’s chest and the rest of the soldiers tore off with a scream, shouting at the tops of their lungs: “Fall back! The Wright’s escaped! Fall back to the gates!”

  Chapter 47

  Wolfstomp

  “Run! Run, you fools!” Titus bellowed the moment the keep began to shake. He had both hands clamped upon his collar. The gold bit into the pads of his fingers as he roared, as he tried to will his beasts to safety.

  Half of the windows showed beasts that managed to cleave to the ramparts and the cliff side, to find their way to solid ground — a sheet of gray sky consumed the rest. Clouds whipped by. Dying shrieks raked against his ears as his beasts fell for an eternity. The last thing Titus saw was the maw of the northern seas. One by one the windows went to black as his beasts’ bodies were crushed against the ice-capped waves.

  Titus’s eyes snapped open as he groped for the relief of his own sight. In a single blow, the Wright had destroyed half of his army of beasts. But he’d done far worse than that: nearly all of his army’s supplies for the winter now lay in the depths of the northern seas, drowned along with the keep.

  With the back of his fortress gone, the barracks were open and vulnerable to the howling winds. Titus felt its breath hiss through the windows and cross the nape of his neck, but steeled himself against it.

  The Wright may have left him vulnerable to winter, but it’d cost him his life. He’d watched through Marc’s eyes as the Wright scrambled back inside the keep and to his death. Titus would replace his army’s supplies with the spoils of battle. They would take refuge within the stone village. All was not lost —

  “Fall back! The Wright’s escaped! Fall back to the gates!”

  Impossible.

  Titus lunged to the western window and saw a lone figure barreling across the ramparts. His arms swung furiously beside him, trailing arcs of red behind his every blow as he hacked his way through Titus’s soldiers.

  He watched a sword shatter against the Wright’s chest and howled his curses. D’Mere had deceived him. Her poison hadn’t worked! Now the Wright was as powerful as ever — and he was charging straight for the tower.

  But he could still be stopped. “Catapults — aim for the ramparts! Bring him down!”

  They scrambled to obey, working frantically to lower their aim while more soldiers raced up the steps to crowd the ramparts. With their keep destroyed, his wolves seemed to realize that the only way they would survive would be to kill the Wright.

  And they would give their lives to stop him.

  Titus was about to send his beasts into the fray when a familiar, earth-shattering roar broke him from his concentration. He lunged to the northern windows and saw the Dragongirl had taken to her wings. She rose over the walls and spat fire into the courtyard — heading straight for the catapults.

  Titus bared his teeth in a grin. She’d just given him an unexpected opportunity to hobble the Wright. “Now, archers!”

  He’d had a ring of soldiers hidden at the tower’s top, crouched beneath the walls and waiting with a single purpose: to destroy the Dragongirl.

  Their cries rang above him and he watched as a volley of arrows left the tower’s top. They were arrows he’d made especially for her — tipped with dragonsbane heads.

  Three of the arrows struck the Dragongirl’s wing. Her flame stopped short of the catapults as she twisted in mid-air, writhing against the pain. Titus watched as her wings faltered — as she drifted clumsily over the wall and landed hard in the field beneath him. He growled in triumph when he heard the Wright scream:

  “Kyleigh!”

  He was broken now. Oh yes, his strength would wane just as it had at the river. He would be unfocused, vulnerable. And while his heart was broken, Titus would rip it from his chest.

  Wood creaked above him as his archers drew the ending volley —

  “Ah!”

  The crunch of bone and the sharp clap of rock sounded overhead. Archers tumbled past his window, limp and trailing gore — bludgeoned to death by a volley of ice-blue stones. He heard the savages howl in triumph and at the same moment, heard his catapults loose their jars.

  Screams rent the air as a sea of orange-blue flame consumed the ramparts — devouring his soldiers along with the Wright. He watched their writhing bodies for a moment, basking in the Dragongirl’s agonized roar. Titus drank in his victory with a howl. Now that the Wright finished, he could carry out his plan for the savages.

  Titus was marching towards the rampart doors when one of his soldiers cried: “Your — Your Earlship!”

  He sprinted back to the windows and watched in horror as his soldiers’ burning corpses tumbled into the courtyard — thrust away by the Wright. His body was engulfed in flame, but he charged forward. He broke free of the corpses and burst into a sprint …

  “Move! Get out of my way!” Cold strangled Titus’s limbs as he hurled himself out the door and onto the opposite ramparts. He ran as far and as fast as his legs would carry him, his teeth gritted against what he knew would happen next.

  But no matter how he tried to brace himself, the blast still knocked him off his feet.

  The earth shook and ice sprayed out in a wave as the tower exploded. Rocks the size of men burst out and tumbled down the ridge. The stone bit Titus’s knees as the force of the explosion knocked him to the ground. The few soldiers that’d managed to escape the blast clanged down hard behind him, dragged off their feet by the weight of their armor.

  Titus twisted onto his back, dragged himself to his feet and saw, with a horror that froze his limbs, a burning streak erupt from the tower’s remains and begin charging its way towards him. He heard the savages’ wild cries. He watched from the corner of his eyes as they clambered over the blazing ruins and into the courtyard to battle what remained of his beasts. But the Wright’s stare consumed the rest of his vision.

  His eyes were made darker by the fires that danced across his skin — a blackened gaze untouched by flame. They stayed locked onto Titus the whole while he fought. Heads rolled from the sweep of his arms. Bodies crumpled at his feet. The orange-blue flame ate across his jerkin, but the Wright’s stare never faltered.

  At last, the final paltry line of his soldiers fell to the Wright’s fury. Titus heard the wails of his beasts as they fought desperately against the savages, and he knew that victory was out of his grasp.

  The last of the Wright’s flames died to the breath of winter. The red mark that cut down his chest showed clearly through the charred holes in his tunic. His hands hung empty at his sides. His eyes glinted furiously from beneath the crop of his reddish hair.

  Titus did the only thing he could do, the only defense he had left: he lowered his gaze … and fell to his knees. “I could be a powerful ally to you, Wright. The Kingdom is ours for the taking. With my help, the crown could be yours —”

  “I don’t care a whit about the crown.” His word
s were as biting as the winter, his voice no more forgiving than stone. “You’ve already taken the Kingdom, Titus. You’ve shed its blood and strangled its children. You’ve wrung the tears from its eyes. I’ve seen the scars of your power in every hold across the realm.”

  He took a step forward, and Titus brought his chin from the ground to meet his eyes. There had to be something there — some weakness he may have overlooked. He’d been able to find mercy in Setheran’s eyes … but there was no mercy in his son’s.

  Instead, the warrior’s edge had been refined, sharpened until it glinted like steel. His fury lay unsheathed inside his glare, never to be covered. And Titus knew before he even spoke that he would not escape death that day …

  For Death looked him in the eyes.

  “I’m going to kill you, Titus,” the Wright growled. “Not for power, not for vengeance — but for the Kingdom’s sake. For the simple reason that as long as you’re dead, everything that’s good in this realm has a chance.”

  In that moment, Titus knew he was beaten. He knew there would be no escape. The Wright raised his arm, brought it above his head …

  No! No, Titus refused to die this way. He wouldn’t die kneeling before a whisperer — he would stand. He would fight to his last breath. He would fight once more for the glory of men!

  His sword hissed as he drew it from its sheath. The blade struck the Wright’s upraised arm and shattered. The hilt jarred from his hand. A resounding crack echoed in his chest as the Wright’s fist shattered his ribs. Titus’s back struck the ground hard.

  Pain stabbed him with his every breath. He gaped at the swirling gray sky, blinked against the flakes of snow that drifted to melt against his skin. Blood coated his tongue with its peculiar, metallic tang. The agony in his chest railed so fiercely that his body began to numb rather than try to take it in.

  The Wright’s face appeared above him. His eyes watched mercilessly as Titus struggled to breathe. His boot came up, arching high over Titus’s chest, and he knew what was coming.

  When he tried to beg, a fresh spurt of blood clogged his throat. Please, he thought furiously. Please — not like this. Allow me to stand. Let me take up my sword!

  But the Wright couldn’t hear him. He never faltered in his stride. And so with blow that shook the mountain’s top, Titus went to meet Death.

  *******

  Kael watched as Titus’s eyes darkened and his body stilled. The Earl’s breastplate had collapsed beneath Kael’s boot, crushing his ribs and innards. A scarlet puddle formed beneath the Earl’s tunic. It spread eagerly across the mortar and stone, only stopping when it froze.

  For a moment, Kael breathed deeply. The molten beast inside his chest cooled and sank beneath the rivers of his blood. He grinned when he heard the craftsmen howling from the field:

  “Wolfstomp! Wolfstomp!”

  He raised his fist, and they howled all the more.

  Then he heard Nadine cry out in warning: “They are coming over the walls!”

  With Titus dead, his beasts seemed to have found a new leader. Marc’s great bristling body disappeared over the ramparts — followed quickly by the remaining horde of beasts. The wildmen gave chase but couldn’t follow as the monsters vaulted over the walls.

  Above them, the falcons screeched furiously. The first fell from the sky in a black bolt. Its pointed beak hung open, its talons stretched out. Both of its monstrous eyes were locked onto the villagers.

  In the instant before it could strike its mark, Declan leapt into its path. The falcon split from around the upraised edge of his scythe in nearly two perfect halves. “Steady on, you clodders — protect the wee mountain rats!”

  The giants wrapped tightly around the villagers, their scythes pointed outwards towards the hurtling bloodtraitors like the jagged maw of some gluttonous beast.

  Kyleigh galloped towards them with a roar. Yellow flame spewed from her mouth and arced high, reducing the falcons to cinders. Their bodies tumbled out of the sky like fallen stars and crashed into the snow with hisses and puffs of steam.

  The pirates were running to the giants’ aid; the wildmen were leaping over the ruins of the shattered gate. Kael sprinted as fast as his legs would carry him, prepared to leap from the ramparts and onto Marc’s bristling back —

  Snow and ice burst from the field before the giants in a monstrous wave. A beast with a dragon’s head and a great, furry-white body lunged out and snapped at Marc. It was only by the panic of his long limbs that Marc was able to hurl himself to the side — and the beast’s great jaws clamped around the body of a weasel instead.

  Kael heard the crunch from the ramparts, watched the iron on the weasel’s chest get torn and twisted between the monster’s jaws before it spat its mangled body away and snapped down for seconds.

  More snow burst up, more creatures lunged out. Their backs were covered in ice-blue scales. The spikes that ran down their stout tails crushed the bloodtraitors’ twisted heads. Wherever their claws pounded down, they left crimson stains and mangled limbs behind. One drove its horned head into the snow like a battering ram, flattening three beasts beneath it.

  In the midst of all the chaos, Marc had nearly escaped. Kael caught sight of his reddened body as he fled over the hill and charged after him. But Gwen got there first.

  The two-headed axe flew from her hand, whistling towards Marc. There was a hollow thud as it struck him between the shoulders. His twisted body crumpled to the ground. He howled piteously, struggling under its edge as Gwen marched over to him. She wrenched the blade from his back and raised it high. Kael looked away as it fell.

  Marc’s screams were cut short. He heard the thud of the axe falling twice more. When he dared to look back, Gwen hefted Marc’s severed claws above her head. “I’ve killed him! I’ve slain the red devil!”

  The wildmen let out a triumphant howl.

  Gwen’s eyes darkened quickly as she began marching towards the dragon-like creatures. Their battle was done: the last of Titus’s beasts lay slain in a twisted mass. Now the creatures stood noticeably before the giants — not threatening, but present. There was more warning in their ice-blue stares than bite.

  Fortunately, Kyleigh reached them before Gwen could do anything rash. Kael’s stomach twisted when he saw the arrows that stuck out from one of her great wings. He scrambled down the gate’s ruins and through the ranks of pirates, listening to their confused murmurs as he went:

  “Did you know that about her?”

  “… always knew she was a strange one.”

  “Strange, aye — but this?”

  It’d been so long that he’d forgotten how desperate Kyleigh had been to hide her second shape. Now as he saw the looks on the pirates’ faces, he was reminded quickly. Their brows arched high and their mouths hung open. Some even clutched warily at their swords.

  “Mind your manners, dogs!” Lysander barked as he fell in next to Kael. The captain’s handsome face twisted in worry as he eyed the creatures standing before the giants. “Good Gravy. Please tell me we aren’t going to have to fight those … well, whatever they are.” His concern quickly melted into confusion. “What are they?”

  “I think they’re called wynns,” Kael said, though he could still hardly believe it.

  Eveningwing the hawk perched upon Lysander’s shoulder. He nipped playfully at Kael’s curls as they walked. For some reason, seeing that the halfhawk wasn’t concerned made him feel better about things.

  “As long as Gwen behaves, there shouldn’t be a problem,” Kael said, more to assure himself than anybody.

  The wildmen shoved him through their ranks, howling and pounding their chests. When he reached the head of the line, Gwen snatched him by the back of his shredded jerkin and threw him towards Kyleigh. “Make sure the pest doesn’t trick us,” she growled.

  There was more concern on her painted face than he’d ever seen.

  He jogged to Kyleigh’s side, gaping at the arrows that hung from her wing. Their heads were made of drag
onsbane and slightly hooked, which meant they’d stay latched into her flesh until the shafts were broken away.

  Her fiery blood boiled in streams from each hole; the tip of her wing dragged against the ground. Seeing the pain in her eyes sent fire roaring to the ends of Kael’s clenched fists.

  It made him wish he could kill Titus a second time.

  He reached immediately for Kyleigh’s wounds, but she nudged him away. Later, her eyes said.

  He glared at her. “Do you swear? I won’t let you play the hero.”

  She promised she would behave. Then she lumbered towards the wynns, dragging her horned head in an arc that he knew meant she wanted him to follow.

  The wynns were spread out behind their leader. Their pupils were slitted, cutting up like spear points across their frozen blue eyes. Deep breaths rumbled inside their furry chests — most of which were stained with fresh spatters of bloodtraitor.

  Kael felt as if he stood before a second council, one every bit as ancient as the mountains. He wondered if any of them were as old as Kyleigh. Perhaps they were even older. His toes had begun to curl under their stares when he heard a sound that surprised him: a hum, low and deep.

  The hum wailed like a storm and ended with the deep boom of a drum. The wynn leader’s furry chest expanded, and he hummed again. Kael’s heart leapt when Kyleigh answered. Her voice was lighter, but no less beautiful. Her hum trembled through the wynn’s in a heart-stopping song.

  Kyleigh looked down at him suddenly. Her blazing eyes drifted over his and her great, scaly arm shifted closer. Kael realized that she wanted him to touch, to listen.

  His heart was pounding in his throat as he pressed his hands against her stark white scales. Her voice trembled across his ears and sank deep, until he heard the echo of its meaning from inside his soul: