The Drinnglennin Chronicles Omnibus

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The Drinnglennin Chronicles Omnibus Page 132

by K. C. Julius


  As if on cue, a force of armored men riding under Drinnkastel’s new standard of silver and red appeared on the road ahead.

  Whit pointed his rod at the soldiers bearing down on them, and a wall fire sprang up in the royal army’s path. “Fynn, head for the woods!” he cried. “Grinner, go with him! We’ll follow once we’ve dealt with these men. Go!”

  “No,” Fynn replied, his tone adamant. “I’m standing with you all.”

  “As am I,” Grinner growled, drawing his short sword. “All turnips in th’ stew t’gether, I say!”

  Whit’s mouth formed a grim line, and the fire began to roll toward the royal guardsmen.

  Their solidly built commander called across the flames. “I’m Sir Kennrick, here in service of our king. I demand you surrender the traitor Morgan, and if the rest of you are not complicit in his crimes, you shall continue on your way unimpeded.”

  An arrogant-looking youth brought his horse to the commander’s side. “That’s him!” he cried, pointing at Fynn. “That’s the Helgrin pup who wants to warm his heathen arse on the Einhorn Throne!”

  “DuBleres,” Lowan muttered through gritted teeth. “I’ll gut the little bastard myself.”

  “We’ll give you to the count of five,” the Nelvor knight warned. “After that, wizard fire be damned!”

  Whit’s expression darkened, and a cloud of dark smoke barreled up from the fire. When Morgan sent him a cautionary look, he growled, “If they decide to pass through it, that’s their choice.”

  The others all drew their weapons.

  ”Perhaps you might consider a different diversion, Whit?” Morgan suggested. “One that will give us all time to put some distance between us and them?”

  A slow smile spread across Whit’s face. “Can you engage them in a brief parley?”

  In answer, Morgan spurred his horse closer to the fire, which was now burning itself out as Whit focused on a new spell. “Sir Kennrick, did you say?” the wizard called over the dying flames. “I knew your grandfather, Sir Diyn. We rode together in the Long Wars.”

  “In the time when you were in service to the king,” Kennrick replied. He spat and dragged his sleeve across his mouth. “Before your name became linked with infamy and betrayal. Before you burned the Chronicles and murdered a king. Now it’s time you face judgment for your crimes.”

  “As to the infamy,” replied the old wizard mildly, “I suppose it depends on who’s recording history. But I murdered no one, despite what Roth would have you believe.”

  “King Roth, you traitor!” Kennrick growled. He lifted his hand and signaled to his men to advance.

  Morgan cast a glance back to see Whit staring up at the sky, then heard an unmistakable rush of air from above. The horses whinnied and reared as a dark smudge spiraled against the clouds: a black drake, circling down on wings spread wide. The dragon appeared terrifyingly real. Even in Morgan’s prime, he hadn’t been able to illuse with such detail. Why, he could almost smell brimstone…

  “Ride!” he bellowed, grasping for the reins of Fynn’s horse. But the boy’s mare skittered sideways out of the wizard’s reach and bolted for the woods, taking Fynn with her.

  The dragon dove toward them while horses charged away in all directions, frantic to escape the descending creature’s lethal talons and breath. In the smoky mayhem, it was impossible to tell friend from foe. Morgan raced in the direction he thought Fynn had gone, his pony crashing through the bracken. Screams severed the air, horses squealed in agony, and the sickly-sweet stench of charred flesh followed him as he surged through the trees, seeking a horse and rider who had seemingly vanished in the dense wood.

  An arrow whizzed past Morgan’s ear. He veered his mount left, then to the right as a second arrow missed him by inches and thudded into a tree just ahead.

  “To me!” Whit cried, riding up on Morgan’s left. The wizard spurred his horse in Whit’s direction, and the world went grey as he was cloaked in the younger man’s shadow. In silent accord, they both pulled back on their reins.

  Three royal guardsmen streamed past unawares, fleeing in terror from the dragon’s wrath. Fortunately for them, the beast was pursuing the unlucky riders who had ridden in the opposite direction.

  When their shouts moved out of earshot, Whit released his spell. “Dragons attacking men?” he muttered. “What does this portend?”

  “Nothing good. Did you see where our young friends went?”

  “They have to be somewhere nearby.”

  But the woods were unnaturally still in the aftermath of the attack. And when they dared to venture back onto the road, a scene of devastation awaited them. Blackened, smoking remains littered the ground, and there was no way of discerning the silver cloaks from Lowan and his men. Whit’s face went as a pale as the moon, but Morgan was relieved that the lad didn’t shirk from the task of clearing the bodies from the road before they went in search of Fynn and Grinner.

  There would be more deaths to come, and they’d all need the grit to face them.

  * * *

  Morgan and Whit searched the forest for hours, but found no trace of Fynn or Grinner. When at last the wizard proposed they continue on their way to Cardenstowe, Whit looked at him with alarm.

  “What? Without them?”

  “Our friends know this was to be our destination,” Morgan replied, “and they’ve traveled through this part of the realm before. It doesn’t make sense to waste any more time seeking them here. We’ll have to trust they’re resourceful enough to continue toward Cardenstowe. With luck, we’ll meet them along the way, or if not, find them already at your castle.”

  “And if we don’t?”

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” Morgan pushed away the ripple of sadness he felt upon mentioning bridges, which would forevermore remind him of Leif, who was likely no longer among the living. I have much to answer for, he thought. I failed to keep him safe. Halla as well. As for Maura, only the gods know where she might be at present. If Fynn was not to be another casualty of his inept care, there was no time to lose.

  They rejoined the road farther north, then rode as hard as they dared push their mounts, for there were still many miles between them and Cardenstowe. Whit remained silent throughout, and Morgan assumed he too was brooding over their lost companions and the carnage wrought by the dragon. The creature’s attack was confirmation that a decision had been taken in Belestar: there was to be no peaceful cohabitation between dragons and the world of men and elves. Furthermore, this pitted Ilyria and Rhiandra, if she still lived, against the rest of their kind—impossible odds for the dragonesses to survive.

  Dragons, then, would be yet another front to contend with in the uncertain days ahead. United against all others, they would be close to invincible. And even if the armies of men somehow managed to defeat the beasts, at what cost would such a victory come?

  The light faded, and Morgan, worn to the bone, called a halt in a small glade. Neither of them were hungry, but they shared a few pieces of waybread between them before stretching out by a fire that did little to warm the cold stone Morgan had carried in the pit of his stomach since they’d lost Fynn and Grinner.

  When he caught the flicker of a shadow out of the corner of his eye, he realized Whit was wielding his magic. Watching the dark shade leap and pirouette, Morgan felt the tension in his muscles lessen.

  “What is it, do you suppose,” he said into the stillness, “that makes us so love magic?”

  The shadow froze, then after a pause, Whit replied. “I think for me… it’s because only in magic can you find perfection.”

  “And do you believe that in perfection lies happiness?”

  Whit rolled up to a sitting position. “I didn’t say that.”

  “No, but I sense perfection is what you ultimately seek. You are ever striving to know more, to do more, to be more. Is it because you t
hink this will make you happy?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m happy enough.” Whit tugged his sleeping robe up over his shoulders, then lay down with his back to the fire. After a short silence, he rolled over. “Why shouldn’t I strive to improve?”

  “I never said you shouldn’t.”

  “But you implied it. What’s the point in learning only a little bit?”

  “There was a time,” Morgan said, looking up at the first stars winking on in the heavens, “when I wondered if there was a point to any of this.”

  Whit pushed himself up on his elbows.

  “Oh, it was a long time ago,” Morgan assured him, “and I’ve long since revised my opinion on that scale. Still, most of us ramble through our lives believing who we are and what we do is all-important, without bothering to consider our place in the bigger realm. Take that sky, for example. Doesn’t it make our little world seem rather insignificant? For all we know, a thousand-fold worlds more magical than anything we can imagine exist beyond those stars.”

  “Do you… believe that?”

  “Where do you think we came from in the first place?”

  Whit gave a snort of derision. “If you’re speaking of the gods, I’ve heard enough about them to last me a lifetime. If they exist at all, they’ve made a right hash of things.”

  “I’m speaking of something far more elemental.”

  “You think we came from… the stars?”

  “I believe the essence of magic did.” Morgan sensed he had Whit’s complete attention now. “A trace of other worlds is locked within each of us, but very few discover the key to free it. Those who do often fail to understand it, seeing magic only as a means to manipulate the natural world. Only a truly accomplished wizard or sorceress moves beyond transforming the elements to creating and destroying them.” He hadn’t planned for the conversation to take this turn, but it was past time Whit knew what they were truly up against. “I fear Lazdac has finally achieved such power. And if I’m right, he’ll wreak terrible havoc with it. We shall have to throw every obstacle we can lay hands and hearts on in his path, if we are to thwart him. And our first all-important step is to secure the High Throne for our rightful king.”

  “Which is why you asked us to take the oath in Mithralyn. Yet you didn’t push me when I refused. Why?”

  “Because you weren’t ready, Whit. Such a vow cannot be made with half a heart.”

  Whit released a slow breath. “I’m ready now—now that I know the true king is someone I wish to serve. But if we should succeed in dealing with the Nelvors and their allies, then manage to get Fynn on the throne with the united realms’ approval, do you believe we can defeat Lazdac? And the rogue dragons?”

  “If Lazdac has come to his full powers, he will likely prevail. And if the dragons have decided to destroy the Known world, we will face years of terror ahead.”

  “And Lazdac will go down in the annals as the most powerful wizard of all time,” Whit said bitterly. “He must be stopped! I’m sorry I didn’t commit to your cause earlier. But I’m fully behind it now.”

  Morgan smiled to himself in the dark, and a small, improbable hope stirred in his chest. “Our cause, Whit. And I never doubted you would come around. But you’re wrong about Lazdac. He will never, by any stretch of the imagination, be the greatest of us.”

  Whit frowned. “Why not?”

  “Because Lazdac acts out of a sense of victimization, born of a very old grudge his family has against dragons. We, on the other hand, fight for the common good. I have to believe this must count for something in the scheme of all things.” Morgan heaved a heavy sigh. “But I admit might has too often bested right throughout the course of history. Lazdac is a master at ferreting out other’s secret ambitions—and their weaknesses. He will have taken pains to make those he uses as pawns believe they’re fulfilling their own desires, while in reality they’re advancing his own. But once he gets what he wants, he’ll turn them against one another, further tilting the balance of power in his favor.”

  “How do we stop him?”

  Morgan didn’t spare Whit the truth. “Honestly, I don’t know. But I brought the four of you together in Mithralyn because I believed that between you, we stood a chance. You, with your prodigious magic and superior intelligence, Maura, whose selfless nature and kindness shines bright enough to have attracted a dragon, Halla and her fierce, brave spirit and sense of justice, and Leif,” he drew a deep breath to ease the ache of loss, “Leif, with his boundless enthusiasm for life. And now Fynn has come to us. He shares a lot in common with you all, and I believe he will more than live up to his birthright. All of your strengths combined may yet prove Lazdac’s downfall.”

  “But you said before, it’s likely we can’t—”

  “I know what I said.” Morgan stared into the glowing embers. “But I’m hoping, despite that, that you will prove me wrong.”

  Chapter 20

  Whit

  The first crows appeared the following morning—a pair, flying in from the east, then wheeling northward. As the hours passed, Whit caught glimpses of more birds whenever he glanced up at the sky, and it made him feel oddly pleased, as if the crows were doing him honor upon his return to his realm.

  He hadn’t given much thought as to how he felt about coming home after so long away, caught up as he was over Fynn and Grinner’s disappearance. If they’d been captured by Kennrick and his guardsmen, they would be on their way to Drinnkastel, where their fate might be little better than if the dragons had gotten them.

  The thought of the Isle’s future under a continued Nelvor regime left a bitter taste in Whit’s mouth, especially now that Master Morgan had not only shared his fears about Lazdac’s intentions, he’d confessed to having no clear plan and frankly admitted that any plan was highly unlikely to succeed. And after glimpsing the vaar’s massive armada while performing meddwlmenns, Whit was no more optimistic. If the Strigori wizard had amassed enough troops to man those vessels, his forces would overwhelm a divided Drinnglennin.

  And on top of all this, there was no telling what awaited them at Cardenstowe. Between Whit’s mother’s refusal to obey King Roth’s summons to Drinnkastel, and Sir Nidden drawing steel against the king’s envoy, they might well find the castle under siege. Only slightly less concerning was what his mother would do once she learned what Halla, Whit’s betrothed, had been up to.

  But ever gnawing at his conscience were the two dark truths he had not yet shared with Master Morgan: the death he’d caused with the spell he’d cast to save Fynn, and the blood-binding that the priestess in Altipa had attempted with him. As much as he wanted to unburden himself of these secrets, he feared the consequences might be more than he could bear.

  Around midday, drops of rain began to pelt the leaves overhead, and he found his thoughts straying to the events of another wet day, one that occurred while he was still in Mithralyn. On that day Whit had been browsing the shelves in Elvinor’s library, seeking a tome on retrieving spells, when Halla appeared beside him and released a deep sigh clearly meant to get his attention. When she then followed him to a table and dropped down opposite him, he knew he had no choice but to engage with her. He’d learned from experience that ignoring her wouldn’t make her leave.

  “Was there something you wanted?”

  Halla stretched her long legs out before her. “I’ve just been thinking of home this time of year. The meadows in the Midlands must be full of wildflowers and the fields golden with grain. I miss the way the forest smells after it rains—it’s different from here. Don’t you notice?”

  “Not really,” Whit murmured, opening an ancient tome on transformation in hopes she’d take the hint and leave him peace.

  She laced her hands behind her head and leaned back. “Summer’s always my favorite time of year in Lorendale. When Father and I used to make the rounds together, I used to l
ove riding past the high wheat nodding in the breeze, and watching the fat lambs leaping around their dams and the village children at play. You must have similar memories of Cardenstowe.”

  Whit shrugged. “I never went around the estate much. Our reeve has the duties of managing it now, and I see no reason that should change when I return. I’ll want to use the time to study and practice magic.”

  He glanced up to see Halla staring at him. “But you’re Lord of Cardenstowe! Don’t you feel any attachment to the land and your people?” She sprang to her feet, a censorious frown clouding her brow. “Oh, how silly of me—of course you don’t. It’s never even crossed your mind.” Then she stormed from the room.

  And now, recalling those words of the past, the unfairness of it all struck him. He’d soon be back in Cardenstowe, whereas Halla might never return to her beloved Lorendale.

  “Odd that we’ve met no one on the road,” said Master Morgan, breaking into his thoughts.

  Whit shifted uneasily in his saddle. “Should we read something into this?”

  “I couldn’t say. Perhaps we can just count ourselves lucky, and yet…” He looked up as another flock of crows streamed past overhead. Their cries had taken on an urgent note. “Are there usually so many of them?”

  Whit squinted up at the sky. “They always gather in large flocks around the castle and along the river before heading south. But it’s a bit early for that. Maybe they were disturbed by the dragons?”

  “Perhaps,” the wizard conceded.

  But when he called a halt at the end of the day, the crows had only grown more numerous. The circling birds literally darkened the sky in a whirling vortex, and their cawing had become a cacophony of near-deafening proportions. By the time the last of them had settled and their raucous calls died down, Whit’s ears were ringing and a dull throb had taken up residence behind his eyes. Master Morgan looked haggard as well, and Whit suspected the hard travel was beginning to wear on the old man.

  That night, he took extra care setting his wards around their campsite. Master Morgan was already asleep when Whit crawled into his own sleeping robes and closed his eyes against what had swelled into a full-blown headache.

 

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