“I’m proud of you Traginal. You made a fine boy and now you’re making an even finer drakon.”
It was a maudlin moment. Septican quickly broke the effect by grasping both sides of Traginal’s head and trying to shake it.
“And if we don’t heal your neck as soon as possible, you may not get much older.”
It was so, Traginal felt the effects of Serkahn’s hold on his neck as the swelling and pain had increased hourly. Zirca touched his wound with the tip of her bifurcated tongue and analysed the poison to prepare an antidote. She sprayed it into half a drakon egg shell and his Grandfather prepared a horrible smelling concoction and poulticed the wounds with Bethanty helping. Every little bit she learned now would benefit them all in the future and Septican was glad to show her. He also tried a healing spell but it was no use, magic didn’t work on drakons.
Gradually, order came to the hive and that evening, for the very first time, the Spawn found out what it was like to be in a place they were welcomed by family. It sure beat their miserable life under Serkahn’s rule.
Peace had come to the drakons.
Day by day, the forces of King Georgio advanced into Melintana. At first the populace hid from his army but word spread, as if by magic and soon they were being welcomed at each village and town they passed through. They took nothing and bought food where it was for sale, paying a fair price. If they camped near a village, the army made sure they didn’t make a mess of the area they used. The people weren’t their enemy; it was the Duke they’d come for. After years of oppression, the populace almost found it a relief to contemplate freedom. Wherever they went, Prince Lermond took the opportunity to speak to his people, the commoner, Kristen, always by his side. He understood them thanks to her and the positive responses he received did much to bolster his confidence in being King.
Cringle had flown to the coast a few times, a swift but cold trip. Finally he saw the ships of Boronia’s navy arrive and disgorge the thousand troops it carried onto the shore north of the city of Conurbal. The plan was for the navy ships then to sail on and blockade the port. Cringle flew back to report to King Georgio, who was really happy his plans were coming to fruition but he was also troubled. He’d never had to fight a war and the thought of men dying for him by his command was not something he could entertain lightly. It ate away at him. So much so that he actually started losing weight and his clothes began to hang loosely on his frame. Although those around him worried about his health and asked how he was feeling, Georgio actually felt better than he had in a long time. He didn’t get so tired now and it was easier to move about. He’d forgotten what life was like before becoming overweight.
Life wasn’t so great for Duke Erkhart. His own nobles had now heard about the advance of a foreign force onto Melintana’s soil and wanted to know what was going on. The Duke had to make up a few stories regarding invasion as he raised his tally of fighting men day by day. A lot of the newer recruits were older men retired from the army but attracted back by the pay offered for experienced fighters. Old or not, an experienced fighter was worth far more than someone who had to be trained and there just wasn’t the time to train anyone new before the forces of Boronia arrived at Conurbal.
On the evening of the sixth day from the day he had sent out the solitary Spawn to journey to the caverns at the very rear of his property, Duke Erkhart descended into the cellars beneath his estate. He carried a torch, as there was no one to upkeep the cellar caverns since the Spawn had departed. By the light of the flickering flame, he advanced through the caverns until he came across the solitary Spawn who rose from a huddle on the ground to stare bleakly at him.
“Well. What news of Serkahn, Spawn?”
The elongated jaw moved and the Duke had to strain to hear the misshapen words that hissed out.
“Therkahn ith dead. I found hith body in the cavernth. A thpear in each eye. There wath no other Thpawn there. They had gone.”
The Duke sagged. Serkahn dead. No drakons to defend Melintana. It was to be a conventional war. The Spawn moved, quick as a flash and jerked the Duke’s dagger from its sheath. The Duke staggered back, he knew he didn’t stand a chance against one of the Spawn but it didn’t want the Duke’s dagger for offense. Reversing its grip, the Spawn plunged the dagger into its own chest, right to the hilt and stood stock still until all life fled, eventually falling limp at the Duke’s feet. The Duke had enough presence of mind to retrieve his dagger, clean it and resheath it before turning away to return upstairs. No Serkahn. The odds had changed now and he didn’t like them.
Yletta waited for him and he told her what had transpired. He saw the look of relief wash over her face, one she couldn’t hide. The Duke was annoyed at this. He expected at least some support from his sister.
“This makes you happy?” he growled.
“Rodaren,” she’d stopped calling him brother. “I’ve conversed with the drakon queen Zirca. There is to be a new hive in Boronia which is to the benefit of the people there, as the drakons will patrol against Reavers like they do here. The thought of drakons killing people is repulsive. We should live in harmony. That’s why I’m happy Serkahn is dead. The drakons will not be involved in this.”
“You knew this and you didn’t tell me?”
“Once I learned what you were, I couldn’t. Rodaren, I urge you to reconsider. Thousands of able bodied men are going to die or be maimed in a war which serves no purpose. We can all live in peace if you cease to pursue this madness.”
“Madness? I’ve worked hard for many, many years as Regent of Melintana. I’ve tried to look after its people and make sure they come to no harm.”
This was too much for Yletta.
“What! By killing Mages and cripples and ordering the tithing of young women for Serkahn? You’re a despot.”
Without thinking, the enraged Duke drew his dagger but Yletta, rather than retreating, leapt forward and kicked it out of his hand followed closely by another kick to his jaw. The Duke fell back heavily and lay stunned, looking up at his sister.
“I warned you Rodaren. I let no man order me around. I would be careful if I were you, your nephew, my son, may not be as patient as me and he’s a mighty Mage, more than capable of causing great damage.”
The Duke picked himself up from the floor and opened the door to call for guards, who came running with alacrity.
“Escort the lady Yletta to her room and make sure she stays there. All meals are to be eaten in her room and she is not to leave it under any circumstances. Understood?”
Two voices in unison.
“Yes Sir.”
Yletta left, walking between them. The Duke rubbed his jaw as he calmed down. His sister had learned a trick or two in the years of their separation.
On the clear land to the west of the city of Conurbal, outside the main gates and well out of bowshot, the forces of Boronia had set up camp, soldiers instantly ready to jump up at a moment’s notice and bear arms. To the north of the city, on the coast, another thousand soldiers of Boronia were also camped, ready to respond when called upon. Both camps were orderly and there was little or no rushing about as the cavalry and soldiers waited calmly, trusting in their King and Commander-in-Chief.
Inside the walls of Conurbal, the citizens were concerned. Food had been rationed in case of siege but those who knew Duke Erkhart knew there would be no siege. At the moment, the last of the newly hired troops were being fitted out at the armoury. This would give the Duke five thousand fighting soldiers in total. If it wasn’t for the drive of the Duke, most of the nobles would have happily come to an arrangement with the King of Boronia but the Duke had lied and said King Georgio had been instrumental in killing Serkahn because he wanted their drakons and that would leave Melintana open to attack from the Reavers.
It was a stalemate which only a major battle would decide. On the one hand was a true King with no desire to sacrifice good men in an unnecessary battle and on the other, a bloodthirsty Regent who cared not a wit how many
died for his cause.
It would be settled soon.
22. Drakons Decide
Septican sat in front of Zaldara, he was now the only Man at the hive. Through Traginal and Zirca, the golden Queen could understand him. No one knew how old Zaldara was, all the ancient legends and stories regarding drakons which Septican had heard or read involved the mighty drakon queen in the south. Last night he’d been given an insight into drakon lore when he’d asked Zaldara if hers was the only hive. She’d told him there were others, well over two week’s swift flying to the south. Many years ago she and a young male had left that area to fly north and start their own hive. It was a success but then tragedy struck when her mate was killed, along with half a dozen workers, when a deep tunnel he was exploring in the hive collapsed on them. She’d had to evolve another mate.
Serkahn.
“I’ve come to ask a boon mighty Zaldara. One involving Man.”
Her reply was relayed into his mind.
“Speak it Whitebeard. You’ve helped my cause mightily and given up your grandson so Zirca may have a male companion. If it’s in my power to grant it, I will look upon it with favour.”
“Zaldara, there is to be a great battle but there doesn’t need to be. Many men will be killed if nothing is done. Your agreement with Melintana to protect the country against the Reavers was made with a King was it not?”
“It was and that King has died.”
“He didn’t just die. Duke Erkhart used poison manufactured by Serkahn to kill both him and his wife.”
There was a long hiss as Zaldara gave vent to her disapproval.
“Serkahn was my mistake. He has caused many problems, for which I’m deeply ashamed.”
Septican felt the troubled thoughts from Zaldara wash over him.
“You were not to know he would become evil and ambitious. Part of that was the Duke’s doing and he’s still at it. He intends to have his war and keep the rightful King of Melintana off the throne. Even kill him if he can.”
Zaldara’s tail twitched, luckily there was nothing near, it was a big tail.
“What is your boon Septican?”
“I would like the drakons to take the side of King Georgio of Boronia who has come here to put Prince Lermond, the rightful king of Melintana, on the throne. With any luck, the other side will surrender.”
Zaldara gave the equivalent of a chuckle, a deep rumble way down in her throat.
“That’s the sort of boon I would expect from you Septican, to save people from being harmed. It’s no trouble to grant. I think we should mount the Spawn on bronze drakons and fly in formation. I’ll lead and Zirca and Traginal shall fly left and right of me. That would give the Duke something to think about.”
Septican felt relief, hopefully they could avoid bloodshed. Zaldara’s next question was far more pertinent.
“When is this battle to take place?”
Septican had no idea. It was Traginal who spoke up.
“I will go to the King of Boronia and wait with his army. As soon as it looks likely there is to be war, I’ll fly back here and raise the alarm.”
Zaldara looked over to him.
“Very well but you will need to fly fast Traginal. It will take us a while to fly to Conurbal from here. Especially with the bronzes carrying Spawn.”
Traginal’s response was to touch noses with Zirca before leaping into the air and winging north. Septican felt the touch of Zaldara’s mind through Zirca.
“Such a willing and impetuous young drakon but he has a warm heart and will breed good stock.”
It took Traginal over half a morning of fast flying to reach Conurbal. He’d taken notice of what he’d been told regarding the advance of King Georgio’s army and decided to try Conurbal first before flying over the road to the north to search for him and his men. He saw the army below, camped outside the walls of the city and landed near the King’s coach, a reference point for him. No sooner had his feet touched the ground and his wings were furled than Vistala came rushing up and reached up to throw her arms around his neck.
“I’m so happy to see you Traginal, you’ve been gone for ever.”
“Only two weeks little miss, there was a lot to do. The Spawn serve us now and Bethanty is in charge of them.”
Vistala stood back and scrutinised his neck.
“You’ve healed well, I was worried about that wound.”
“Zirca made an antidote to the poison and Septican used his Healing abilities. There will be no after effects, my neck’s as strong as ever.”
Cringle and King Georgio joined them and there were greetings and questions. Traginal explained why he’d come and there was general relief at the news the drakons were going to take their side in the coming battle. However, no one had any idea when that battle would be, there had been no communication with the other side at all. The man King Georgio had sent under a flag of truce to parlay two days ago had not yet returned. No one knew what his fate was. Duke Erkhart was definitely not playing by the rules.
That same Duke Erkhart was presently standing on the battlements on top of the palace gatehouse. He could easily see over the city walls further down the hill and could make plans as easily from here as from down there. Besides, he didn’t want to go down into the city, it was crowded and noisy, and a bit smelly. He turned to the north and looked into the distance for the other opposing force. There it sat, waiting, blocking any flanking manoeuvres. There would be no escape from them. He looked past the harbour and out to sea where the ships of the Boronia navy were moored. There would be no escape by sea either. The cards were dealt.
Time to play the game.
Now, how could he cheat?
The Duke looked down at his army, now massed in the courtyard of the castle. It was crowded down there and the food supply would not last forever. He would have to move soon. A plan came to him. A devious plan at that and his cruel mouth moved to smile. Drakons couldn’t fly at night.
It was the quietest time of the morning, between midnight and dawn when everyone was at their lowest ebb. The gates to the city opened slowly with nary a creak and soldiers started to file out. All possible pieces of equipment that might jingle had been bound with rags and soot applied to their faces. The Duke’s men spread along the walls, first in single file and then in two ranks then three until they had formed into companies. Still there was no alarm from the posted sentries of the Boronia army. It wasn’t until nearly all of Duke Erkhart’s forces were outside the walls of the city that a soldier dropped his shield with a clatter, the handle had broken, the leather rotted through from being stored too long in a damp armoury. The alarm was raised immediately and the army of Boronia tumbled out of their blankets, dressed and ready to go. They had been on battle alert for the last three days.
Cringle arose and immediately tried to assess the situation. Duke Erkhart had broken the unspoken rules of conflict and launched his attack at night. Only magic could keep the forces apart. He went back into his tent to retrieve his carpet. Traginal was awake and quickly took stock of the situation but the first moon had set and the smaller second moon was waning. Not enough light to fly by. Concern and conflict rose in his chest as he realised he would have to wait to fly to the hive and raise the alarm there.
The army of Boronia was well drilled, their Commander-in-Chief, Earl Bentson, knew his job and the men assumed their positions in spite of the lack of light. They gripped their spears and shields tightly and stood facing forward, peering into the near dark for the first sight of the enemy. Cringle jumped on his carpet and took to the air. He could see only a little by the pale moonlight but enough to recognise the advancing masses of the Melintana army.
The soldiers in the front ranks of that army were the first to feel a small gust of wind, certainly not normal for that time of year. It grew stronger until those behind them felt it too. Soon the wind was so powerful the ranks of soldiers had to lean into it to advance and still the winds intensity increased. It became impossible to adv
ance into the face of the gale. All the Duke’s soldiers could do was hold where they were, crouched down behind their shields while the Duke and the nobles stood on the city walls near the gate, observing proceedings by the dim moonlight. The Duke had brought Yletta, under guard, to watch him defeat the massed forces of Boronia. He would become King of two countries after that. Through the gloom he felt the wind increase and managed to only just make out the front line of his soldiers, stationary now, tucked in behind their shields, leaning into the fierce localised gale and trying to remain upright.
“Use the bugles. Send the rear troops out to the sides to go around that area of high wind,” he yelled.
Bugles sounded and the men at the back moved laterally. Cringle saw it and increased the width of the wind front to contain them but there was a limit to how much magic he could manage at one time. As the sky in the east started to lighten, he was just able to contain the men who now spread all along the base of the castle walls. Soon they would be able to move around the sides of his spell.
Traginal was engrossed in the magic he was watching and it wasn’t until Vistala jumped on his back that he realised he could see.
“Let’s go Traginal. We have a job to do.”
With barely a backward glance, Traginal leapt into the sky and arrowing his head in the direction of the hive, flew with every ounce of his strength.
Cringle brought down wind from high above, icy with altitude and strove to freeze the soldiers in the lead but they just kept coming, icicles forming in their beards. It was light enough now to see the massed forces of the two armies. Arrows flew from the walls but fell short as Cringle blew them down. His abilities were being strained now as the scale of his spells had to increase yet again. The carpet faltered and plunged toward the ground, a victim of his inattention. Cringle caught it in time but he’d had to take his attention off the Duke’s forces. They charged but King Georgio’s cavalry swept along the gap between the two armies and the Duke’s men faltered, not willing to fall under the hooves of the cavalry.
Were of the Drakon Page 33