“Just be careful.”
“Don’t worry, Bella,” he said with a smirk. “I know my way home.”
She reached out and took his hand and gave a gentle squeeze. “He knows you’re coming.”
“Then his death should be no surprise.”
With a kick to the flanks, the horse reared up and took off down the path through the darkened wood. It is quite a strange feeling to be astride a beast instead of the beast itself, Malik thought. He felt a sense of power and control very unlike how he’d felt as the dragon. At no time in his many years trapped in that awkward and lumbering form had he felt in control. The rage was always there, just on the edge of explosion. But this was different. While he was angry and felt a desperate need to save Thalia from his scheming brother as well as avenge himself, a calm had descended. His brother would be expecting him to burst in recklessly. Malik didn’t need Belladonna’s fairy clairvoyance to tell him that there would be guards surrounding the castle and an army of knights standing at the ready. He would have to employ stealth rather than strength to rescue Thalia.
As for taking up the mantle as king of Osghast, he still wasn’t interested, despite Bella’s protestations. He was willing to do whatever was necessary to save Thalia, but as soon as it was done, he fully intended to leave. He would flee the continent, run away to the ends of the earth if he had to, but Osghast was full of memory, and he wasn’t interested in settling old scores.
The stallion given him by Belladonna was fast, as if it might be another bit of her magic. Its large black muzzle spewed heavy plumes of steam as the animal pushed itself faster, but it never seemed to tire. In fact, as they raced against the sun, the beast sped up. At this rate, he would reach the castle before dark. Which was good. He would need the cover of night to storm the keep. Especially if his brother was as cunning as he thought. Malik would be completely outnumbered, even if he had a dragon form.
The path before him began to narrow, and the terrain grew murky and uneven. If he didn’t slow, the horse would surely break its leg. He pulled up on the reins, but his steed didn’t seem to notice. “Whoa,” he shouted with another sharp tug. The horse let out an angry whine and jerked his head. “Dammit, Bella,” he growled. Leave to his fairy godmother to stick him with a crazed horse. The horse reared up once and took off through the forest, leaving the path. It leaped over blowdowns, crisscrossing between the trees. Malik felt a warm wetness sliding down his cheek as low-hanging branches whipped his face. It was a testament to his agility that he was able to stay astride the beast. “Stop!” he shouted again as if the horse could understand. With one more savage pull of the reins, the horse reared up and threw Malik with an angry snort before running off. He got to his feet quickly and ran after the stallion until he realized it was no use. “Bastard! You’d better not run back to Ellythin! I’ll feed your worthless carcass to the wolves!” he shouted after it, kicking at the dirt.
“Halt!”
Malik slowly turned, hands in the air, to see a line of guards behind him. The Laurenz crest adorned the sleeves of their ragged tunics. “Drop your weapons!” the leader barked.
Malik glanced at the steel blade hanging at his side. “That doesn’t seem fair,” he replied. “You have me grossly outnumbered, gentlemen.”
“Your sword, sir!” the leader shouted, raising his own weapon. The end of his blade quavered slightly, but the man’s gaze never left Malik’s. He was frightened but determined.
“I didn’t realize that there was a law prohibiting weapons in the forest surrounding Thane. Things have much changed since last I passed through.”
“Orders of the king. No one enters the gates armed or otherwise.”
Malik glanced from one guard to the next, taking in every detail. Their only armor was a heavy leather chest plate that had been patched several times. The swords that were pointed at him were scratched and dull. They’d have better luck bashing at his head with them than they would trying to run him through. And judging by the way their hands trembled, he wasn’t sure any of these men would have the presence of mind to defend themselves should he prove to be hostile. They were rather small, and their faces had a ruddy, malnourished pallor. These were not knights, but indentured peasants forced into service by his brother. As Malik looked around at his opponents, he realized most of them were either too old to raise a beard or too young. A tree branch crunched somewhere in the distance behind them, and Malik was certain that there were also archers in the trees surrounding the area. If they were anything like this rag-tag bunch of farmers, he wouldn’t have trouble eluding their arrows. “What would you know about orders of the king, my friend?”
“I’m warning you…”
“Because unless I miss my guess, you lot aren’t exactly knights of the royal regiment. You nor your friends up there with their arrows pointed at my head.” He decided to humor them and drew his sword, placing it at his feet carefully, his eyes fixed on the guards. “I can assure you that I mean you no harm.”
“State your business, outlander.”
“I’m just passing through Thane,” Malik lied. “My business is my own.”
“Dragonmail is not something seen often in these parts,” the leader said, gesturing at the black scales that peeked from beneath Malik’s cloak. “In fact, the only people who have that sort of armor are gypsies or thieves. So which one are you?”
“Neither,” Malik replied with a smirk reminiscent of his dragon form. “I’m afraid if I revealed my identity that you would not believe me.”
The guards were silent, looking back and forth at one another as if trying to figure out what to do next. “Keiran! Search him!” the leader barked, gesturing at a small figure at the end of the line. As he drew near, Malik could see that he was just a boy. Malik raised his arms, allowing the boy to search the folds of his cloak and the medicine bag at his side.
“What’s this?” Keiran said. He pulled Thalia’s dagger from a sheath under Malik’s arm and brandished it for his superior.
“You’ll want to give that back, boy,” Malik growled. That was Thalia’s property, and he intended to defend it.
“No weapons beyond this point, sir,” the boy said, looking to the other guards for reassurance. “By order of the king.” Malik took a step forward, and the boy cowered, looking back at the old leader. “Silas…”
“If’n you’re intending to pass through the capital, I’m afraid we’ll be keeping your steel.” The leader closed the distance between them in two long strides. Malik had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. Obviously the man had underestimated the size of his opponent. His oily scalp barely came to Malik’s shoulder, but he tried to look intimidating just the same. “Think of it as a toll,” he said, reaching for the sword Malik had laid at his side.
“You’ll get none of my steel today. In fact, I predict that you’ll be most useful in taking me to King Tristan himself.”
The guard cackled and looked around at the others, seeming to test the blade of the sword before tossing it to one of the others. Malik watched as the sword was tucked into a saddlebag, gone and of no use anymore. “Your arrogance is almost amusing.” With a synchronized scream of their blades against the leather, the guards drew their weapons and took an attack stance. “But it will hardly save you.”
“Planning to murder an innocent adventurer?” Malik said, backing away as they advanced.
“Innocent? Not in that armor.” The leader lunged forward with his sword, but Malik was too fast, dodging the blow easily. The blade grazed the edge of the armor, and the guard fell forward. Malik grabbed his arm and pulled the man forward, bashing his forehead against the opponent and throwing him backward. The man was dazed, scrambling to his knees and sitting down hard on the underbrush. Two of the others rushed Malik, connecting with his midsection and throwing his body against the tree behind. Malik felt the breath forced from his chest, and he gasped. It was enough of a distraction for another guard to punch him, closed fisted across the bridge of his nos
e. His eyes glazed for a moment, and he could taste his own blood, but his recovery was quick. He shook off the blow and turned just in time for another to swing at him clumsily with his broadsword. The weapon was obviously too much for the guard, and as Malik dodged, the counterbalance threw him down and drove the blade into the soft ground. Malik grabbed the hilt and used it for leverage, leaping to kick the guard in the face and pulling the sword from the ground. A graceful turn and Malik’s sword clanged against another. The leader of the guard was up again, and this time he was angry. He hacked and slashed against Malik’s sword with a vengeance. Malik was proficient but unpracticed, and his movements were sloppy. He began to realize that he was tiring and soon he’d be bested. Obviously, he’d underestimated the farmer. With a deafening crack, the guard disarmed him sending the broadsword flying. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the others regrouping and ready to attack.
“There’s only two choices, outlander,” the leader snarled, bringing his blade to Malik’s throat. “State your business in Thane and perhaps we’ll just throw you to the dungeons. Or resist and we’ll just kill you.” Malik’s breath was heavy from the fight, and he could feel blood dripping down his face. This sensation of losing was most unpleasant. The irony of his situation got the better of him, and soon he was laughing. “What’s so funny?”
“You,” Malik stuttered. “Thinking that you could kill me.” He pulled at the clasp at his throat and let the ruined cloak fall from his shoulders. “You, a shabby… sloppy… slow-witted farmer!” he spat, crawling to his knees. “Do you even know where the dungeons of Thane castle are?” The guard, sensing the madness lurking in Malik’s eyes, began to back up. He kept the blade pointed at him, but Malik could see it tremble. “You have neither the strength nor the stature to best the likes of me!”
Malik stood, feeling a burning beneath his skin. He thought it must be the fire of his anger, for now he was enraged. These men were blocking his path to Thalia and, in turn, daring to challenge him! He stretched, feeling that his skin was stretched too taut over his body. “My blood runs through the veins of this city! My power is great, and my kingdom is unfathomable!” He felt himself growing: his neck lengthening and his limbs stretching further. His voice became a rasping growl, and his jaw cracked and shifted. “You will bow before me or be crushed beneath my feet!” And with that, his dragon form burst forth from his skin, knocking the guards backward with the force of his magic. The transformation was complete in a matter of seconds, and the guards could only stare up at him in shock and awe. As his head broke through the canopy of trees overhead, he let out a terrifying roar that shook the ground on which they stood. His wings unfurled behind him as he crouched down on his haunches, hissing and spitting fire over their heads. “I am the Dragon Lord of Osghast, and all shall bow before me!”
One by one the guards fell to their knees, dropping their swords to genuflect before him. The archers began to fall from the trees, fleeing the fight. “Sire… we did not know,” the leader blubbered. “Please… spare us.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Malik snarled. “As if such a meager mouthful would satisfy me.”
“No, sire…”
Malik sniffed the air around them. “She is here,” he hissed. “Somewhere near. I can smell her scent on the breeze.” Gazing over the tops of the trees, he could see the castle rising out of the mist. The highest tower rose above all the rest, looking down on the surrounding city, keeping watch. Her soul was like a beacon. She was there.
“The bride of Sheakhol. Is that the woman you seek?” The young boy rose from where he knelt and approached the dragon. He still held the silvery steel dagger, clutching it tightly in his fist as if he were afraid Malik might turn on him.
“You know of her?”
“Aye, sire,” Silas said. “King Tristan had her thrown in the Screaming Tower. She killed King Christophe!”
“Lies!” Malik hissed, making the boy cower.
“She’s to be killed on the morrow, my lord. Impaled at the palace gates as all who betray the kingdom are.”
Malik roared again in rage. “If you value your lives, you’ll help me make sure that doesn’t happen.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Thalia stared out at the courtyard below. The sounds of hammering bounced off the stone walls. They were erecting a large, wooden catapult in the center of the courtyard. It was meant to fire large, iron arrows. She had seen them before. Towns in the borderlands where dragons were still known to invade kept them in towers atop hills. There was also some sort of staging area at the gates. She was pretty sure that she knew what it was for. She was no stranger to local justice. Often when towns called for dragonslayers, they had already exhausted all the usual remedies for curses. Many times, those curses involved sacrifices and scapegoats. She’d seen women burned at the stake, men locked in cages atop the tower to starve to death and the meat picked from their bones by vultures. But the most severe crime that one could commit was treason. The people of Osghast were thirsty for blood after the murder of their king, and Tristan would be sure that their thirst was sated. Thalia would be impaled on a stake in front of the palace gates, a gruesome display that would serve as a warning to anyone who might dare to defy the new king. Nobles, commoners, and the chieftains of border realms like Tarkin—anyone who might seek to take advantage of the turmoil. Her death would give Tristan a double advantage. Not only would he incite a fearful respect in the hearts of his subjects, but his plot would surely draw in Malik, his only rival for the throne. Thalia was the bait for the trap, and she knew it.
She leaned against the window frame and stared into the night sky. Was he out there somewhere? Closing her eyes, she fell into the memory of her night with him. Every caress, whispered words of love, every kiss: they were her only comfort. Her heart ached for him, and though she wanted him so badly, she said a silent prayer that he would stay away from Thane. Tristan was ruthless and would stop at nothing to kill him. Thalia couldn’t bear the thought of her own death if she didn’t know that he would live on. Now that he had been given back his human face, he could start over. Find someone to love him. A single silvery tear ran down her cheek as she thought about how it might have been her. She remembered her vision in the gardens at Ellythin. Those children should have been hers, but it did not matter. As long as Malik lived, her sacrifice would not be in vain.
“I’ve brought you food, my lady.” Thalia turned to see Balan entering the chamber with a large tray. She almost didn’t recognize him. He looked so old. So unlike the man she’d met just over a month previous. His stance had once been proud and straight, but now he hobbled like a hunched over old man. His hair hung loose around his face, and skin had a waxy, wan look.
“Balan,” she said, rushing to him to take the heavy-laden tray. “Are you all right?”
“Of course,” he said. “I am just tired is all.”
She set the tray aside and took his hand, pulling him over to the single, stone bench that sat in the center of the room. “Come, sit down. You don’t look well.”
He nodded and allowed her to help him. “I am… so sorry, my lady.” As he said this, he began to cry, taking Thalia’s hands and pressing them to his lips. He kissed them over and over, his tears wetting the back of her hand. “Please believe that I never wanted this to happen. If I had freed you, King Christophe would still be alive.”
“Ssshhh…” she whispered. “Do not grieve so. None of this was your doing.”
“The night of Sheakhol… I wanted to let you go. I would have let you go that night, but there were so many who were watching. And this… this is an evil business. Since King Christophe’s death, things have been horrible. Tristan is paranoid and spies on all the servants, every citizen it seems. One poor lass was lashed because she didn’t bow to Tristan in the corridor. People are scared, miss.”
He wept against Thalia’s shoulder, and she wanted to offer some comfort. He had only ever been kind. “What is Tristan planning to do, Balan?”<
br />
“He knows. He knows that the dragon will come for you. But this time, he has readied every knight in the kingdom to slay the beast and you as well. I heard him talking to that gypsy traitor, Grafton. Once the dragon, and I’m supposing you, are destroyed, he plans to wage war on the barbarian hordes that have been attacking along the borders.”
“To what end?”
“He wants an all-out war, my lady! The barbarians are only the beginning.”
“And he knows that as long as Malik is alive, his position will be threatened,” Thalia murmured.
“Pardon?”
“Never mind.” She grasped Balan’s shoulders and forced him to look at her. “Look, I need your help.”
“My help?”
“You have to believe me! I did not kill King Christophe. It was Tristan!”
“My lady! You can’t mean that His Highness would murder his own father!” He tried to pull away, as if breaking contact with Thalia might help him elude the truth. “Innocent you may be, but…”
“Listen to me!” she shouted. “Tristan told me himself.”
Balan shook his head. “No. I’m not getting involved in this.” He pushed away from her with a violent shove and stumbled toward the door. “If I go against Tristan, I’ll be executed!”
Thalia ran after him, grabbing his arm and falling on her knees, pleading. “Please, Balan. You’re the only one I have a prayer of convincing. Please! I know I have nothing to offer you and you have no reason to help me…”
“Right!”
“Except your honor! When we met just a month ago, you were a proud man. Now, what I see before me is someone who has been broken. Who believes he has nothing left to fight for.” Thalia closed her eyes and said a silent prayer that Balan would believe her story. “But Malik—the dragon. He is a Dragon Lord. He has foreseen Tristan’s treachery and seeks to thwart it!”
“You are in league with the dragon,” Balan whispered, his eyes wide.
Huntress: A Paranormal Romance Page 21
