“Thank you. I need to go and see him.”
There was no more time for goodbyes. She flung her arms around both of her parents and kissed their cheeks.
“Be careful, Dela,” Johanna said.
“I will. I love you both.”
With that, she slipped from her family home and went out onto the street. The blacksmith’s forge was only a few streets from here, near the market square. It was still early, but news of the new arrivals had everyone spooked. That, combined with the war, was enough to drive people back inside their homes where they hoped they’d remain safe.
As she approached, the familiar clang of metal hitting metal and the roar of the fire met her ears. Yolden Willetts sat astride a stool, a mask protecting his face, as he hammered out a breast plate of armor. Sparks of red, orange, and white flew into the air of the dark interior. She waited, not wanting to disturb him while he was working, though the wait was driving her crazy. She shifted from one foot to the other, twisting her fingers together and chewing her lower lip in impatience. What was happening to the others? Were they being beaten? Tortured? She had no idea what went on in the dungeons of the castle, but she couldn’t imagine any of them were good things.
Yolden finally put down his tools and must have sensed someone standing there. He turned to look over his shoulder, his eyes widening behind the protective mask he wore. “Dela! I thought you were dead!”
She gave him a small smile. “No. Definitely still alive.”
“Are you back for your job? I’ve plenty of work going.”
Her lips twisted, and she wrinkled her nose. “Well … not quite … but I am looking for a favor.”
He frowned. “What kind of favor?”
She looked over to where a pile of armor and swords had been finished. They lay on top of a small wooden cart. “Do they need to be delivered to the castle?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Can I do the delivery?”
“Why would you want to do that? You’re not in any trouble, are you?”
She waved a hand dismissively. “No, not at all. I just want to get a look inside.”
“You’ve worked for me for years, Dela, and you’ve never given me a reason not to trust you, but this does seem out of character, especially as you’ve only just returned. Everyone said you’d died in the Southern Pass.”
“Clearly, I didn’t. And I promise I won’t get you in any kind of trouble, and I’m not going to steal the armor or weaponry. I just really need to get inside the castle.”
He put down the hammer and frowned at her, his gloved hands jammed on his hips. “I’m not going to just let you take my last week’s work.”
“Please, Yolden. This is really important.”
“So is my work, and I’ve had twice as much to do since you’ve been off gallivanting.”
She bit down on her irritation, knowing she needed him more than he needed her. “I wasn’t gallivanting. I was one of The Chosen.”
“Yes, and all the other Chosen who survived were back weeks ago. What exactly have you been doing in all this time?”
She sighed. “It’s a long story.”
He snorted. “I bet it is.”
“Please, Yolden.” Dela hated to beg, but she didn’t have any choice.
But his expression remained firm. “I said no.”
“Fine.” She didn’t want to look or act like a petulant child, but she couldn’t help it.
His lips twisted. “I guess this means you’re not planning on coming back to work any time soon, then?”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. I’ve got other things going on right now.”
“Things that have to do with your reason for wanting to get inside the castle?” he pressed.
If he wasn’t going to help her, she didn’t plan on giving him any more information. “Bye, Yolden. See you around.”
She backed away then turned, looking as though she was walking away from the blacksmith. She sensed his gaze following her, and the moment the feeling faded, she risked a glance over her shoulder. Yolden had turned back to his work, so she slipped into an alley on her left and remained pressed up against the wall to stay hidden. She gave smiles to anyone who passed and tried to look as though she belonged there, while all the while peeping out to the front of the blacksmith’s. Yolden got hot while he worked, which meant he drank a lot of water, and therefore also pissed a lot. There wasn’t a bathroom in the blacksmith’s so he went around the back of the building to urinate. She just needed to wait for him to take a bathroom break.
She didn’t need to wait long. Yolden downed tools once more and exited the front of the shop. The moment he’d rounded the building, Dela got moving. She ran back in and snatched up the handles of the small wooden cart and pulled. It was heavier than she’d thought, but once she got the wheels turning, the pulling became easier. She needed to move fast.
With her shoulder muscles screaming in protest, she dragged the cart out into the street. The wheels sounded too loud on the cobbled ground, and she was sure Yolden would hear. She needed to put as much distance as possible between herself and the blacksmith so he wouldn’t be able to catch up with her.
She ran, leaving the blacksmith behind her.
But she hadn’t been quite fast enough.
“Dela Stonebridge!” Yolden’s roar chased her down the alley.
“I’m taking it to the castle, I promise,” she yelled over her shoulder. “I’m doing you a favor!”
She didn’t dare look to see if he was giving chase. He’d known her for years, and she hoped he’d wait to see if she did take it to the castle or not. If it turned out she’d stolen the armor, then she guessed he’d make sure she got in trouble for it, but if she actually took the armor where it was supposed to go, he probably wouldn’t want to cause her any problems.
To her relief, he didn’t seem to be giving chase, and she allowed herself to slow her pace. Her breath heaved in and out of her lungs, and her arms and shoulders ached. But the journey of the past couple of weeks had left her fit and strong, and she covered the distance quickly. The walls and gate of the castle were on the other side of the square. City Guards stood on each side of the gate, and they drew themselves up to full height as she approached.
“Delivery from the blacksmith,” she said, trying not to show how she was gasping for breath. Her face burned, but she hoped they wouldn’t interpret her red cheeks as guilt.
One of the men stomped forward, a frown marking his forehead. He bypassed her and checked the contents of the cart. The City Guard turned to his comrade and moved his finger in a winding motion. “Let her through.”
The metal gate lifted with a crunch. Dela waited impatiently, still worried Yolden had followed her, but finally the gate was high enough for her to slip beneath, dragging the cart along behind her.
Her heartrate had already been fast from the physical exercise, but now it raced for a whole other reason. She was inside the castle’s curtain walls, and in the courtyard. Somehow she needed to find Warsgra, Orergon, and Vehel. She needed to locate the dungeon, and then hope she didn’t end up in it as well. She had another reason to be in the castle as well. The Seer had told her that to win the dragon’s trust, she should find the dragon egg locked in the castle vaults. She assumed they would be underground, just like the dungeons were, so at least she’d be heading in the right direction.
“Armory’s over there,” another guard grunted at her, motioning with his head in the direction of the side of the castle, beyond the stables where a number of elegant looking horses snorted and pawed the ground.
She smiled her thanks, put her head down, and kept going. She longed to stop for a moment and stretch out her arms and shoulders, but she also wanted to look as though she knew where she was going. If she looked as though she belonged, she’d be less likely to be questioned.
Passing the stables, she stopped at the armory and left the cart there. She didn’t want Yolden to get in trouble for not
delivering the goods. Checking she was still alone, she slipped back out, her heart hammering. She was just waiting for someone to call out to her, questioning what she was doing there, but no one did. Instead of turning back the way she’d come, she kept going, walking beneath an archway and into a walled tunnel which led along the east side of the castle.
To her right, a heavy wooden door stood ajar. It led into the main part of the castle, and from there she hoped she’d be able to find a staircase that would take her beneath to the dungeons and vault.
Dela checked either side of her to make sure no one was looking, and then slipped inside. Thick stone walls and a flagstone floor made up this passage, and she hurried along, her heart pounding, unsure if she was even going the right way. The only light came from narrow windows high in the walls, and the result was a dark, oppressive space, despite the bright sunshine outside.
The sound of footsteps against stone came from behind her, and panic surged through her veins. She looked around, frantic, trying to find somewhere to hide, but there was nothing here. Remembering her promise to herself to look as though she belonged, she kept walking, her head down. She expected to feel a heavy hand on her shoulder, together with gruff demands to know what her business was here, but instead she heard something else.
“Dela?”
Someone had called her name.
Chapter 27
Orergon
Orergon wrapped his fingers around the bars of his cell and pressed his face against the cool metal to get a better view out into the dungeon where they were being held. A couple of guards were slumped against the wall, apparently bored, but armed with swords. The moment anyone made any kind of noise, the guards came to life, using their swords to strike the metal of the cell bars to get them to shut up again.
Warsgra was in the cell to Orergon’s left, and Vehel to the right. There were others in here with them, too. Human men who were being held for whatever crimes humans arrested each other for—thievery, murder, unpaid taxes. One of the human men had been singing a ballad of some kind when they’d been brought in, and another had been yelling and hammering on the bars, but everyone had fallen quiet when Orergon and the others had been pushed into the dungeon. Most of the humans had most likely never seen someone from another race, and to end up locked up with three of them probably wasn’t the way they’d anticipated the day going.
They were waiting for the right moment for Vehel to break them all free, but right now they struggled to speak to each other without one of the guards yelling at them to shut up. They also didn’t want the guards to know what they were planning. None of the guards had the brainpower, or so it seemed, to see that Vehel was Elvish, and therefore might have the ability to do magic. That might change, however, when King and Queen Crowmere finally bothered to come and speak with them. The guards might not recognize an Elvish person when they saw one, but the king and queen certainly would. If they thought him capable of magic, they might take steps to make sure he was incapable of doing any. Orergon didn’t know what those steps would be, but death seemed a pretty surefire way of preventing him trying anything.
Each of them had received a beating upon being brought to the dungeon. Orergon had been delivered a particularly nasty kick to the ribs, and each time he moved it was like splinters of wood were being driven up through his side. The others had received punches and kicks as well, and he knew it had taken all of their strength not to retaliate.
But they needed to soon.
With their faces pressed against the bars so they were able to see each other, Orergon knew the time had come.
“Hey,” he hissed at Vehel. “We need to make a move.”
Vehel nodded. “What about those two?” he whispered back, nodding at the guards.
Warsgra’s low voice came from the other side. “I can take care of them.”
They’d all had their weapons removed before they’d been brought down here, but Warsgra was big enough to crush their skulls together.
“Okay,” Vehel replied, keeping his voice down. “I’m ready.”
Orergon watched as Vehel closed his eyes and lifted his hand to the gates. A blue light, like miniature lightning bolts crept up the bars, darting from one bar to the next. The light crept farther, spreading across from Vehel’s cell to Orergon’s and then Warsgra’s. There was a click as one of the locks sprang open, and then another and another.
“Hey, what are you doing?” shouted one of the guards.
Vehel’s magic died away, and all three of the gates swung open. The guards rushed toward them, their swords drawn. Both had matching expressions of confusion and fear, but sometimes fear gave way to anger, and anger could be deadly.
“Mage,” one of them cried. “He’s a Mage.”
Orergon was a good fighter, but he normally had a spear in hand. One of the guards swung his sword at him, and Orergon reared back, and then sidestepped as the guard pulled back and then stabbed forward. The other guard had been left with the unfortunate choice of taking on either Warsgra or Vehel. Even armed with a sword, while the other two were unarmed, it didn’t seem like a fair fight. Warsgra towered over him, his massive shoulders bunched. Vehel could use his magic to disarm the guard, but it always took Vehel a little while to pull his strength back together after using magic, even after the Seer’s training. From the look on Warsgra’s face, however, the big Norc was looking forward to this fight.
Still in the cells behind them, the other prisoners jeered on the fighting, shouting and banging on the bars with their hands. Orergon ignored them. The human men weren’t their problem, whether they deserved to be there or not.
Clearly seeing Warsgra as the bigger threat, one guard swung his sword at Warsgra’s stomach. Warsgra stepped back, and as the sword continued with its momentum, he darted back in and delivered an elbow at the man’s sword arm. The guard cried out but managed to keep hold of his weapon.
Orergon couldn’t focus on Warsgra. Between him and Vehel, they had the other guard to take on, and the other man was armed where they had nothing. Orergon glanced at Vehel. His eyes were slightly glazed, and Orergon knew it was the effect of him having worked his magic. He couldn’t rely on Vehel just yet for help. He needed to take down this guard by himself, but it wasn’t going to be easy when the guard was armed and he was not.
Still, he was a seasoned warrior and a skilled fighter, where the guard was a low paid employee of the crown. The presence of the sword evened them up, however. Orergon just needed to get the weapon out of the other man’s hands.
The guard swung the sword, and Orergon ducked and then spun away. He darted to the left, but the guard stepped forward with a descending slash, and Orergon pulled back, the blade skimming the front of his body. He couldn’t allow himself to be pressed up against the wall. It would leave him with nowhere to go, and he’d end up skewered like a hog. The swing of the sword exposed the guard’s back and Orergon took the moment, lifting his foot and kicking hard. The impact sent the guard flying back, but he managed to keep hold of the sword. Frustratingly, the guard kept his balance and swung the sword again, keeping Orergon from launching a second attack. But being off balance, combined with the weight of the weapon, gave Orergon an advantage again. He darted in, trying to take out the guard’s legs with his foot. He misjudged, and the guard managed to step out of the way, and Orergon ended up on the floor on his back. Murderous anger glinted in the guard’s eyes as he brought the sword down. Orergon saw the cut coming and barely managed to roll out of the way, the metal striking the stone floor with a clang.
Knowing he was going to lose unless he disarmed the guard, he focused on the man’s hands around the hilt of the sword and aimed another kick. The sword was heavy, and as he lifted it to strike back at Orergon, Orergon’s boot made contact, knocking the weapon out of his grip. The sword flew to one side, skittering across the floor, finally coming to a rest out of reach.
Orergon was bigger than the guard, and he jumped to his feet to face him. They were
in hand to hand combat now. The man threw a punch, but Orergon spun back around, coming to a halt at the man’s back. He caught the back of the man’s head. Working purely on instinct, and without consciously thinking, he brought his face directly in line with the guard’s.
Dead. He wanted this man dead. Anger and rage filled him. The darkness that had been swirling at his soul since Vehel had brought him back rose inside him again. He placed his mouth to the guard’s and exhaled.
A stream of black, like ash, flowed out of him and into the guard’s mouth. The man’s eyes widened in terror, and his body jerked and shuddered, but he made no move to escape.
When Orergon knew he’d done enough, he released the man and stepped back.
The guard fell to the ground, his eyes wide as he clutched at his throat. The darkness spread across his face like a disease, and Orergon realized he’d seen something similar before, when the trees and bushes had turned to dust back in the Seer’s cavern.
The guard croaked one final time, his body jerking, and then fell still.
Orergon looked to where Warsgra was still trying to disarm the other guard.
In a flash of silver, the man brought the sword in a downward slash. Warsgra tried to sidestep, but his size made him slower, and the blade cut Warsgra’s shoulder. Fury crossed the big Norc’s face as he glanced down at where blood flowed down his skin. He sucked air in over his teeth, but he didn’t hesitate. His fist balled, and he swung a punch directly into the middle of the man’s face. His nose smashed, blood flying in every direction, and the second guard went down hard. Warsgra stepped in and kicked the sword out of reach.
They were all breathing heavily, and a strange stillness descended over the dungeon. Even the other prisoners had fallen quiet now, silenced by witnessing the way Orergon had killed the other guard.
Orergon stared down at what he’d done. He could feel Vehel and Warsgra’s questioning stares, too.
With a Dragon's Heart Page 18
