Crying Havoc fk-4 Read online

  The entire first half of the book was a history of the dragon species. Very little was known about where dragons came from or why they seemed to spring up in groups throughout history. The translation of the text was tedious, but Offendorl had grown patient in his long life. A younger man might have been tempted to skip ahead, past the history and care of dragons, but Offendorl was nothing if not thorough. Reading and learning where the only things he still cared about other than power. He read to learn to increase his magical abilities, but he still found pleasure in a quiet, comfortable place with a thick tome or ancient scroll before him. He was awake late into the night reading, and at last he had discovered exactly what he needed to bring the dragon under his control.

  He was fascinated to learn that crowns worn by kings had their origins in dragon lore. There was no explanation for why dragons were drawn so strongly to gold, although the precious metal not only worked to heal the beasts, it could also be used to control them. Offendorl sat studying a picture of a wizard with a long beard and helmet made of pure gold. The helmet had a name inscribed on it, and, according to the book, if Offendorl could learn the dragon’s name, he could have total control of the beast. It was exactly the kind information he had been hoping for, that elusive last piece to the puzzle he needed.

  He slept for only a few hours before his servants woke him. He rose early each morning and met with the commanders of both armies. He had to make sure their invasion moved forward smoothly. In fact, it had been his idea to send the knight who had approached them under the banner of truth back to their king empty-handed. After the group had sat through the long, rainy night, Offendorl had sent them away without a reply while King Belphan and King Zorlan slept. This morning he needed riders to go in search of anyone with information about the dragon. They had passed by and plundered many villages on their way north, and already they had heard reports of people claiming to have seen the beast, or to have fled from their homes to escape the dragon. Offendorl knew the dragon was communicating, and what he needed was someone with knowledge of the beast’s name.

  By midmorning, once the kings had slept off their excess from the night before, the army began its daily march. It was late afternoon when they spotted the Yelsian army spread out before them. Offendorl was surprised by King Felix’s daring. Unlike Belphan and Zorlan, Felix was not content to sit in the castle. He brought his army into the field, and now they would fight. At least, Offendorl thought, there would not be any more skirmishing. A full-on attack would mean that thousands would die, on both sides, but Offendorl put little value on the lives of mortal men. The army halted, and they made camp less than a mile from their enemy.

  “In the morning, we shall attack them,” Offendorl told King Belphan and King Zorlan, as they met for their nightly report.

  “I thought you said Felix would hide in his castle,” Belphan said.

  “I did, but in this instance I was wrong,” Offendorl admitted.

  “He’s making a bold move,” said one of the generals. “I can’t imagine what would make him fight us in the open field.”

  “Perhaps he has an advantage that we know nothing of,” said Zorlan.

  “It’s possible,” said Offendorl, “but if the wizard Zollin is with them, they would still be better off fighting from behind the high walls of their city.”

  “So, why would he do it?” Belphan asked.

  “There could be any number of reasons,” Offendorl said angrily, he did not like being questioned. “The most likely being there is something between us and Orrock that he cannot move and does not wish us to find. It forces him to fight us here, and we shall use that to our advantage. He will find that we shall not be beaten back so easily.”

  “What do you have planned for them?” Belphan asked again.

  “Nothing,” Offendorl said, “we cannot break the treaty.”

  “You will not fight for us?” Belphan’s face was turning red. “This invasion is entirely your idea, and now you will leave us defenseless?”

  Offendorl looked at King Belphan. His generals were all staring at the ground, their faces red with shame.

  “You have an army, my King. You are not defenseless. You want the spoils of war without doing the work. Do not fear, you shall be safe. We will keep you and King Zorlan far from the fighting.”

  Just then a tremendous crash shook the ground. The camp erupted with shouting and screaming.

  “What have you done?” King Belphan shouted.

  Offendorl didn’t bother to answer. Instead he hurried out of the tent with the generals of the armies. The camp was in chaos, and another crash shook the ground. Someone shouted for them to take cover, and fires were flaring up in the darkness all around the camp. Offendorl let his magic flow out so that he could discover what was happening. He felt the next boulder hurtling through the air and the truth dawned on him.

  “Trebuchets,” he told the generals. “Pull your men back. Do it quietly. No torches; they will only give the Yelsians something to aim at.”

  The soldiers moved quickly away, while King Belphan and King Zorlan crowded closer to the master wizard.

  “They have trebuchets?” Belphan said. “It is dishonorable to fight at night.”

  “I don’t think they are concerned with honor,” Offendorl said. “Get your servants moving. We need to pull back out of their range.”

  The next hour was frantic. Offendorl stayed with the kings, even raising a defensive shield around them when one boulder came crashing down not far from their position and sending shattered bits of rock flying toward them. The officers of the army shouted themselves hoarse trying to get their men organized in the dark chaos, but eventually the army had fallen back and reformed beyond the range of the trebuchets. The camp burned, including many of the soldiers’ tents, and much of the plunder they had taken on their march north was lost. Both of the kings’ tents were burned, but Offendorl’s servants feared their master more than death. They worked tirelessly to ensure that the ancient wizard’s possessions were moved out of harm’s way.

  When dawn finally arrived, the invaders’ camp was in total ruins. There were smoldering piles of ash where tents or wagons had burned. Shattered stone was everywhere, and the earth was torn into muddy gashes. Nothing that had been left behind was intact. Offendorl could still see the Yelsian army in the distance, but the trebuchets were not visible.

  “The ground must slope downward on the far side of their forces,” said one of the generals who was standing nearby waiting for orders.

  “Yes,” Offendorl said. “I imagine the Tillamook river is nearby, and they are using the river to ferry in stone for their artillery.”

  “What do we do now?” King Belphan asked.

  “We wait,” said Offendorl.

  “But sir,” said one general in surprise, “we have more than enough men to take their position.” The soldier turned to King Zorlan. “Send us forward, sire, and we shall destroy them.”

  “Don’t be a fool,” said Offendorl. “After marching for nearly a mile across open ground while they drop stones on your forces, you’ll be in no shape to fight anyone.”

  “We can see their boulders now,” the general argued angrily. “We won’t be such an easy target as that.”

  “They won’t use boulders now, you imbecile. They’ll use rocks about the size of your fist, hundreds of them. You won’t be able to dodge them. Your shields will be smashed to pieces. Even the knights in full armor will be killed. This invasion would be over before the day is out.”

  “I disagree,” the general began to argue, but those were his last words.

  Without warning, the soldier, dressed in chain mail and a thick jerkin with a wide leather belt, burst into flames. He shrieked, but the fire consumed him so quickly that no one could help him.

  “We do not need senseless bravado,” Offendorl said as the men around him stared at the burning corpse. “I have other plans, but until they come to fruition or until our forces from Baskla arrive, we stay
here.”

  “Begging your pardon, my lord,” said one of the other generals. “You don’t want to flank them. We could divide our forces and march around their position.”

  “No, they will have thought of that, and I don’t want to play into their hands,” Offendorl replied. “Set up a defensive perimeter and send scouts to ensure they don’t move those trebuchets any closer.”

  The generals all hurried away. Offendorl knew they were glad to have an excuse to get as far away from him as possible. The smell of the burned man was horrible, and he left the kings gawking at the corpse. He returned to his wagon; he was exhausted and needed to rest. He had a lot of work to do, work that would tax his ancient body. Transmutation was not something he did on a regular basis, and while he had the skill and more than enough power, he would need all of his strength.

  He called for one of the servants while he lounged in his wagon.

  “See that my tent is set up for King Belphan and King Zorlan, but not next to the wagon. I want some space from those sniveling potentates. And begin gathering lead. I need as much heavy metal as you can find. Bring it to me here and see that I am not disturbed.”

  The servant bowed low and left the wagon. Offendorl leaned back and closed his eyes. He had instructed another servant to prepare him food and wine, but it would be a while before the meat was cooked. He would nap for a while, then eat, before working on the golden crown he was making to control the dragon.

  Chapter 24

  Brianna paced back and forth in the small confines of the cave. It wasn’t a true dragon lair; the beast had spotted it from the air as they flew over the southern range of mountains. But it was deep enough that the cold winds were held back. The dragon had carried Brianna carefully, letting its flaming breath roll back over her to keep her warm. For her part, Brianna held tightly to the beast. She wasn’t sure what their connection was, but she felt as though they were the same. She knew she wasn’t a dragon, but she also knew she was more than just a girl.

  For days they had sheltered together in the cave. The dragon was wary, but open in its way. Brianna found that the dragon could talk, although its voice was sometimes difficult to understand. It was just as curious about what Brianna had become as she was. She had hoped at first that the dragon might be able to explain what she was becoming, but it had no knowledge of Fire Spirits. For her part, Brianna understood the dragon’s desire to be free. She could feel the beast’s uncertainty and its nagging desire to fly south to find the owner of the voice that was continually calling for it. Brianna had been able to calm the beast and allow it to rest. For days the nagging pain of its wounds had tormented the dragon. It had been able to sleep only in troubled fits. It had been in constant fear, which seemed odd to Brianna for such a large, powerful creature. It had no natural enemies, and yet Zollin’s constant pursuit and the wounds she herself had inflicted on the creature had created a sense of constant paranoia. Only now that she was with the dragon did it feel safe enough to rest.

  They spent hours debating what the dragon should do. She knew that it had been moments from death when she went to it. Even if Zollin hadn’t been there to fight the dragon, it would have starved or succumbed to the infections from its wounds. She had healed the dragon’s body in the valley far to the north, but it took many days to heal its mind. Brianna wanted the dragon to stay in the mountains, but the nagging voice in the beast’s mind was slowly driving it mad.

  It was gone at the moment. The dragon went out hunting at least once a day. It often brought back small portions of meat, which Brianna cooked simply by holding the raw meat in her hands. She was growing extremely tired of eating nothing but meat and longed for vegetables and fruit, but there was no way to get what she wanted without leaving the dragon.

  She experimented every day with her power. At first she could conjure fire as if it were part of her body. The fire came out of her skin and didn’t burn, even though she could feel the heat. She wasn’t cold, even though they were high in the mountains where the temperature never got far above freezing. The heat from her fire, or from the dragon, felt luxurious to her, and since she had no clothes she often let the flames dance across her skin and cover her nakedness.

  After a few days, she began to be able to control the fire, not just conjure it. She could move it just by thinking, intensify the heat until it was so hot it began to melt stone. And as her powers grew, so did a strange desire for offspring. She had heard women in Tranaugh Shire talk as they grew older about their intense desire for children and Brianna had always looked forward to being a mother, but this desire was different. She knew she wanted to have offspring, she just no longer thought of them as children. She didn’t know what it meant, but in her dreams she saw eggs formed from the most intense heat. There was no mating involved, no birth process in the traditional sense. Brianna imagined it more like forging offspring, of coaxing hatchlings from the heat. It was a mystery, but the desire grew day by day.

  She was still pacing when she heard the telltale whoosh of the dragon’s wings. She felt a little better now that it had come back. She was afraid that it would abandon her, simply fly out for food and never return. Not that she couldn’t get down the mountain on her own: she couldn’t fly like the dragon, but the uncanny sense of lightness had grown stronger as her power did, and she now felt so light that it would take only a little effort to soar up into the sky and sail about on the wind.

  The dragon landed gracefully at the mouth of the cave and folded its wings back flat against its body. It had a young goat in one talon. The animal was still alive, but clearly so frightened that it was in shock.

  “You were gone a long time,” she said to the dragon. “I was afraid you weren’t coming back.”

  The dragon eyed her balefully, but Brianna had come to recognize the look not as one of hate or distrust, but simply the dragon’s natural mannerism. She wondered if their ferocious appearance was what caused men to fear them, when it was possible to live in harmony together.

  “I am leaving,” the beast hissed, its forked tongue whipping out of its mouth as it spoke.

  “Why?” Brianna said. “You don’t have to go.”

  “I must,” it said. “The voice is growing stronger.”

  “I can keep you safe,” she said, still not sure why she said it.

  “Then come with me,” it pleaded.

  “No, you said yourself that wizards enslave dragons. I know that isn’t always true-Zollin would never do that-but whatever is calling you south can’t be good for you. Stay here. Fight it. I know you can.”

  “No, I must go. It is no longer in my control.”

  Brianna put her hands out and the dragon, hesitating for only a moment, thrust its head forward so that she could stroke its cheeks.

  “You are good, I know that,” she told the dragon. “You don’t have to give in to hate. You don’t have to let evil men use your great power.”

  “I cannot change,” the beast said. “I will fly you down to the lowlands.”

  “No,” Brianna said. “I can’t leave yet. I have something to do here. I can’t say what it is, but I have to stay.”

  “And I have to leave.”

  “Be careful,” she told the beast.

  It nuzzled her shoulder then moved swiftly past her. She followed it to the mouth of the cave, the cold air whipping her hair around her face. Then the dragon jumped high into the air, its wings flapping, and it soared away. Brianna felt a twinge of regret. She had a strong sense that she would never see the dragon again. It was an odd feeling, she thought. It wasn’t like the dragon was a pet or even a friend. It was an incredibly powerful creature that somehow she had connected with.

  She walked back into the darkness of the cave. The goat was bleating, and she realized that it was afraid. She didn’t like the thought of killing the animal. Death had become part of her life, and she had never even questioned it. She was tired of death, and the more she thought about it, the stronger her desire to create life be
came. She missed Zollin, but she knew she still had things to learn and things to do. They were things he could not help her with. In time, she would return to Zollin, she was sure of it. But for now, she had to discover what it meant to give life.

  * * *

  Quinn was more tired than he could ever remember being. He had ridden north to Black Bay, then turned east and taken the Weaver’s Road toward Ebbson Keep. He rode day and night, alternating mounts, eating in the saddle, stopping only to catch a few hours’ sleep in the late watches of the night. At first he had stopped to ask if anyone remembered Mansel, since the boy was hard to miss. He was larger than most men, both in height and build. But the people who remembered seeing Mansel only remembered seeing him pass by, so Quinn pushed on.

  At Fort Jellar, he skirted the army encampment. Although it was tempting to check on Mansel at Ebbson Keep, Quinn decided to keep moving. He wasn’t sure if it was a desire to find Mansel, or if he just really wanted to see Miriam again. His desire to see the healer in Felson had been growing in him since Mansel had thrown him overboard and the shock of the cold water broke the spell Gwendolyn had cast over him. He decided to push on for Felson and kept a wide berth around Ebbson Keep. He had little difficulty easing through the line of scouts in the dead of night. Once back on the Weaver’s Road, he resumed his demanding pace.

  The weeks went by in a blur of constant movement. His body ached from riding so long, and his mind wandered for long periods. He was a day’s ride from Felson when the cough began. At first it was merely a tickle deep in his chest. But the tickle nagged at him, and his discomfort grew stronger. Soon, he was coughing so hard that his sides ached, and he had even caused himself to vomit at one point. When he approached the city, late that night, he smelled the stench of too many people trying to live in a small area. He rode through a shanty town, where people were camped on either side of the road, some under makeshift shelters and others exposed to the elements. He could smell the trash and the unmistakable odor of the latrines that had been hastily dug as refugees from the north flooded into the city.