“Havenstahl is lost, is it not?” the words caused the battered, old general more pain than any of his physical wounds ever could. His plan had failed. The walls of his great, adopted city came crumbling down while the men and dwarves who had placed their hope in the might of his sword and the cunning of his mind died beneath the feet of giants, the claws and fangs of trogmortem, and the dirty spears of lowly grongs. He had failed, allowing the hope that had flashed behind the eyes of those faithful to fade with the grandeur of their fair city.
“All is not lost,” Spang replied, his tone remaining even and flat. “They haven’t moved our fair city and hidden it from our eyes. It is where it has always been. They have crushed our castle and knocked down our walls, but the city remains atop the mountain. More importantly, it remains in the hearts of the men who believe. Those men will fight to regain it, and you will lead them. There will be nowhere for our enemy to hide. This battle is lost. This war is lost. But our fight has only just begun.”
Daritus remained silent, mulling over Spang’s counsel. Could he ever lead these men again after failing them so miserably? Kallum was a surprise, but hadn’t the dead-eyed men returned to announce the fallen god’s rebirth? Surprises cannot happen. A great general accounts for every possibility and weaves it into his plan as if he were creating a great tapestry. If the correct threads are not used, the glory of the piece will be lost. Too many colors were missing from the threads he had used to weave the work that would be the war of Havenstahl. Perhaps the slayer of giants was more warrior than general after all. Perhaps the men who looked to him to guide their steps on the battlefield should avert their eyes and find someone worthy of their faith and admiration. As the beaten general swam through the muck of self-doubt, he glanced back up at the mighty eagle, soaring above the broken shell of the greatest city of men and her crumbling ramparts.
chapter 43
the dragon queen
The sun had reached its highest point before Cialia appeared in the doorway of her mother’s room. She found Leisha talking with Perrin in a small sitting area just off the main bed chamber. The two women seemed far less than content talking and fretting over cups of tea.
“I have slept far longer than I intended,” Cialia said as she slowly entered the room.
“Many dark thoughts and doubts weigh heavy on your mind,” Leisha shrugged. “Rest is always helpful in sorting out opposing ideas. You remain full of doubt.”
“I am,” Cialia frowned. “On one hand, I feel the vile men I sent to the Lake earned my wrath with the darkness in their hearts and their failure to righteously serve the people they swore to protect,” she paused as she pulled the vine crown from her head and turned it around in her hands, examining it.
Leisha’s eyes narrowed, as she looked over her tea at Cialia, and said, “Go on. What other ideas battle with your feelings of justification?”
The fretting queen scratched her head with her right hand as she continued to examine the crown she had made with the power of her will. Finally, she held the crown up toward Leisha and said, “I made this,” the words tumbling out of her lips amid awkward laughs. “I called these vines to me and ordered them to wrap themselves around my head.”
“And?” Leisha asked as she sipped her tea.
Cialia’s eyes closed tight as the crown in her left hand began to crumble under the weight of her grip. When her eyes opened and looked back into Leisha’s, she said, “I created fire. I pulled it out of the sky and burned men with it. My mind invaded their thoughts. Then I judged, sentenced, and executed them. None were safe from my scrutiny or my power.”
The former queen stared at her daughter silently for a few moments. Her expression softened slightly as she finally said, “So you do feel remorse, if only slightly. You should feel that. You sentenced thousands of men, who had committed no crime, to die by fire because they harbored wicked thoughts. If not downright evil, it is at least a gross misuse of your great power.”
Cialia’s expression hardened as she reflected on her mother’s words, “I am this monster you describe, and I am finding it terribly difficult to justify my actions even to myself. When Coeptus gave me this great power, it changed me in many ways. They showed me things you could not possibly understand. No one who hasn’t seen them could. That changed me. However, one thing about me that has remained consistent is my idea of justice and how it is administered. This is not something new. Nor is it something I came up with on my own. I have been given a gift of great power by the authors of our world, but my sense of justice was planted and cultivated by you. It grew under your guidance. You are no warrior, but that does not mean you do not wield great power. Your lips whisper into the ears of the greatest general this world has ever known, greater than Ymitoth or any of the mighty leaders of Havenstahl who have come before him, and you have never hesitated to unleash the great power you wield. Just because you do not thrust the blade into the breast or fire the arrow that pierces the flesh, do not think you are not the killer. You have trained me to be this monster you see. If you look at yourself, and I mean really look at yourself, I believe you will see the resemblance. Think of that as you sit there in judgment of me.”
Leisha’s eyes widened as she stammered, “How dare you attempt to lay the souls of the men you slaughtered at my feet? I spent the better part of my life defending this world from evil, defending the last Dragon from the monsters who would cut her down and end our world. How can you compare that with the torture you committed? Their only crimes were impure thoughts. Thinking about evil acts is not the same as committing them. Where does this twisted logic come from?” She paused and added, “Wait. Don’t tell me. I am also to blame for that.”
Perrin shifted, thought of interjecting her opinion into the debate, and opted to remain silent. Though she felt a kinship with both women, being married to the son of one and the brother of the other, this family debate seemed something she should sit out. On top of that, her own demons had dragged her mind to a place that left her nearly bereft of emotion. Questions of the meaning of life seemed infinitely bigger than questions of justice, duty, and loyalty. What did any of it matter in the grand scheme of things?
Cialia stared at her mother for several moments in silence. Her blue eyes that had always appeared so innocent and full of wonder carried coldness, like something had ripped open the shades and allowed the heartless reality of life to flow into them. She finally broke the silence and said quietly, “This is not blame, mother. It may be an attempt to justify my actions, not only to you but also to myself, but my words are true. How many men were slain at the hands of the riders of Druindahl while they rode under your command?” She paused for a few moments, eyeing her mother intently, and then continued, “I don’t expect you to know the number. The number you should have no trouble recollecting is the number of Dragons who have been slaughtered during your lifetime. That number is zero. All of the dragons hunted down and killed by men were murdered generations before you were even born.”
“And the point of all of your words, dear daughter?” Leisha’s head shook slowly as the tension left her face.
“The point is none of the men you sentenced to death at the hands of my father, his men, or I ever committed the crime which earned them their deaths. None of those men ever killed a Dragon. They were killed in defense of the last Dragon and therefore, killed because of their desire to destroy her. They were killed because they wished to commit evil against Ouloos just as the men I ended in the forest were, and they were all killed at your command.”
Leisha remained silent as her gaze drifted toward the floor.
Finally, Perrin decided she had remained silent for long enough. She looked to Cialia and said, “It ain’t no easy answer what ye two be trying to get to. Meanwhile, them warriors of Havenstahl be fighting for the lives of me people, and though I be having just as much faith in your father as ye do, I be having terrible fears of what may happen if they falter. Only half of them people they be defending fol
lowed us here to Druindahl. I be carrying a mighty fear for what them monsters might be doing to them people what didn’t.”
Leisha rubbed her eyes, sighed, looked back up at Cialia, and said, “The young queen has a point, and her fears are very valid. You and I have many things to discuss, but they are far less important at this moment than the lives of the innocent people of Havenstahl whose only crimes are trusting in the strength of the army that protects them. You have the power to end the battle with a whisper of your voice.”
“My flame,” Cialia nodded as she sat in a chair opposite Leisha and Perrin. “Though I do not share either of your fears—I have complete faith in my father to turn back any assault on the city of Havenstahl—I will grant you the peace you seek. Once my assumptions have been validated, we can discuss the irony of asking me to use my power after damning me for the same.”
Cialia—new queen of Druindahl, child of the Lake of Dragons, master of Dragon’s Fire, time, space, and all of the elements, and protector of Ouloos—closed her eyes. Leisha and Perrin watched, seeing only what appeared to be a sleeping queen. Cialia saw much more. In an instant she was on the battlefield that poured into the valley at the base of Mount Elzkahon and up the hill toward the castle. Huts burned as villagers screamed and fled. Many fell as vicious grongs leapt upon their backs, scratching and biting, or felled them with spears. Soldiers and solidas gave ground up the hill. Their ranks were discombobulated as some faced the attack while others charged toward the castle. As her gaze followed the men and dwarves charging up the hill toward the gates of Havenstahl, it finally came to rest on the fallen castle and the busted ramparts of the city. The horror of the image paled when she beheld the terror soaring above it. The eagle, Kallum, the scattered god yet lived.
Back in the throne room at Druindahl, Cialia’s eyes snapped open. “I am sorry I doubted you, mother,” was the only explanation she gave before her body vanished from her chair.
Cialia materialized in the valley at the base of the hill. Laenkishot Kik of the third generation of giants, son of Kil, and grandson of Kon stood immediately before her. A broad smile spread across his terrible face as he raised his right fist high above his head. Though she fought against the fire, images of innocents impaled on spears and gnawed on by scaly beasts filled her head and beat down her resolve. Flames immediately danced up her arms and then around her entire body. Kik’s fist barely made three inches toward the queen of Druindahl’s head before he burst into ash and his conceited smile was vaporized.
Cialia’s focus moved to the Eagle. Her eyes blazed fiery red as the flames swirled a great circle around her. A mighty roar from far behind her slightly tugged her attention. It wasn’t enough to turn her gaze from the eagle, but it was enough to stay her flame momentarily. In that moment of hesitation, the great, silver lion soared above her head, paws digging into air as if the god were galloping across the sky. In a moment, Kaldumahn and Kallum were locked in battle above the ruins of Havenstahl. Kaldumahn, the great, silver lion who stalks the skies fought with the ferocity of a mother scarra defending her cubs. However, Kallum, the great eagle proved to be master of the air. He beat Kaldumahn with his wings, sliced him with his talons, and ripped off hunks of his perfect flesh with his mighty beak. The two gods appeared a blur to all but Cialia who witnessed the full ferocity of the assault. Eventually, the battered lion was tossed back to the Sobbing Forest.
Cialia’s eyes narrowed to slits as her gaze fell back to a battlefield littered with the bodies of far too many innocent victims. When a man picks up a sword and swears an oath to defend a city or sets his intention toward adventure, he accepts the risk of death accompanying either occupation. When a god takes physical form and openly wages war against another god, he accepts the risk of being scattered on the wind. When a dwarf picks up the mighty dwarf axe and proves himself worthy of the title solida, he too accepts the risks of that post. The corpses of unarmed victims scattered among those of fighting men, dwarves, grongs, trogmortem, and even giants were more than Cialia could stand. They had chosen a life of peace; farmers, herders, smiths of all kind chose to serve in ways that left them unable defend themselves. Their choices set them at the mercy of the honor of warriors. The monsters attacking Havenstahl showed no honor, cutting down all before them. Whether those innocent souls were hiding, fleeing, or making a stand to defend those they loved, their enemy made no distinction between trained soldiers and innocent victims.
The blood-soaked hill covered in corpses and pieces of corpses, faces frozen in expressions of pain, fear, and hopelessness, pushed Cialia beyond the fragile edge of control. The fire swirling around her form paled in heat to the fire burning in her belly. That rage filling her, consuming her, aching to lash out and destroy, pushed against her will, beating it back and crushing it down. Tears that would have flowed freely over the softness of her cheeks evaporated before they had a chance to drip from her eyes. She fought to hold back the rage, almost succeeding completely. However, the fury burning through her was strong and relentless. She managed to hold it back from burning through every evil her mind touched, but it succeeded in slipping through at each monster that fell under her gaze. The tough skin of giants sizzled before erupting and casting chunks of burning flesh all about them. Trogmortem hides did the same. Grongs exploded where they stood.
It didn’t take long for the ferocious nightmares from across the Great Sea to realize what great power had joined them on the battlefield. It took even less time for them to learn to fear it. In moments, giants, trogmortem, and grongs—the fury and ill intent stolen from their eyes by mind-numbing fear—raced away from the castle at Havenstahl. Furious monsters fled in every direction desperately seeking a safe place to hide from the fury of Cialia’s fire.
Once the monsters had been burned or fled the battlefield, Cialia cast her gaze back toward Kallum, the mighty eagle, lord of the sky. Her rage swelled again, lashing out in a ball of flame the size of a hut. Kallum showed his true nature to all remaining in the field by retreating back to the east. Racing on mighty wings, he made his escape, fleeing the heat of Cialia’s rage.
After a long, quiet moment of confusion, a voice rang out from the hillside, “The great Cialia has returned! She has found her flame!”
A cheer erupted from all of the souls still drawing breath on the battlefield. Soldiers, solidas, and the innocent villagers they fought for all sung boisterous praises to the glory of her name. They damned the names of the monsters that had brought them war from across the Great Sea. They stomped and crushed the charred remains of their enemies. With one voice, they shouted to the sky. None could challenge the might of Havenstahl; the greatest power on Ouloos defended her.
A breathless Cialia collapsed where she stood. As her skin cooled, tears finally began to fall down her face. What had she done? Her clammy skin had only moments to feel the grass before she slipped back to her throne in Druindahl. The gratitude and songs of praise flowing from those surrounding her and those scattered all the way to the gates of the city almost stung. Relief danced among those praises, but it wasn’t alone. A vengeful joy fraternized with it. It felt dark and bold and—worst of all—unfinished. Thoughts of retaliation and eradication filled too many of the minds on the battlefield. What had she done? What did they expect from her now?
When Cialia opened her teary eyes back up, she was back in the chair in Leisha’s sitting room, looking to her mother and sister-in-law. The benevolent expression that had taken up residence on her face since she had first found her flame in the Forgotten Forest had fled. In its place was a conglomeration of fear, confusion, and sadness. “I have done terrible things, mother,” she wept. As the words left her mouth, she counted each of the lives her rage had ended. One by one, each face, each story, and each history sailed through her awareness. They were living, breathing, cognizant beings, and she utterly destroyed them on a whim. The justification she had been clinging to so tightly scurried away as the realization her vengeance reduced her to something
equivalent to those she found so vile settled into her consciousness.
“Yes,” Leisha agreed quietly, “you have done terrible things. We all have for our own reasons.” As the words softly left her lips, she went to her daughter—the great and mighty power—and held her to her breast like a weeping babe. They remained like that, weeping together in silence for several moments. They may have remained for eternity if Perrin had not interrupted the sadness.
“What did ye see? What of me kingdom and me people?” Perrin implored.
Cialia pulled away from Leisha’s embrace and turned her eyes toward the young queen who seemed so much older than she remembered, “Your men fought bravely, but their enemy was unrelenting and furious. And there were gods on the battlefield with them.” She trailed off as her gaze moved to the floor.
“And?” Perrin shook her hands as she crouched toward the floor. “What happened?”
“Many of your men died trying to protect your castle and the villagers who remained. Many of those people died too,” Cialia brought her gaze back up to meet Perrin’s. “Your castle has been destroyed, and Kallum yet lives.”
Tears filled Perrin’s eyes before cascading down her cheeks. How much loss could one soul endure? First her husband had left her, chasing death rather than focusing on the new life he had created. The sting of that was still strong. His relationship with Ymitoth had been so important to him deep, emotional scars wouldn’t be a surprise. In fact, they would be expected. However, why seek solace in a corpse when the celebration of new life was so close at hand? Then, as if losing her love to a carcass wasn’t enough, her parents died trying to protect her and her new son. Though she shared no blood with them, they raised her with love as their own. Were it not for them, she would be swimming in the Lake in their stead. Before she even had a chance to digest—much less grieve—their loss, Geillan was taken from her. She had such precious little time with him before those monsters came to claim him for the god, that bastard. Finally, many of her people were dead, and Cialia’s grim mood suggested their numbers were great. Taken together, it was more than the young queen could bear.
Kallum's Fury (Lake of Dragons Book 2) Page 33