The Drinnglennin Chronicles Omnibus

by K. C. Julius

  The elves fell back at once, and Egydd made his way to Elvinor and Ystira.

  “Your Majesties…” The little mage peered at the queen, and his brow wrinkled with concern. “Oh, I say, this won’t do! Why, you’re looking as peaked as a primrose, my dear.” He reached into several pockets of his tattered cloak before he found the flask he was looking for. “A little sip of this, and you’ll be right as rhubarb! You look to be in need of a dose as well, sire.”

  While the queen and king drank the elixir, the mage scanned the faces surrounding them. “You next,” he said to Aenissa, “then pass it ’round. There’s plenty for all.”

  Egydd’s eyes lit up at the sight of Queen Tarna, and he ran his gnarled fingers through his matted hair in an unsuccessful attempt to unsnarl it. “The Queen of the Fae, here as well?” He extracted a fistful of heather stalks from his dusty cloak.

  Tarna flitted over, a look of glee spreading across her lovely face. “Anu bless you, Egydd! You’re surely sent from the goddess!” She accepted the flowers and took a delicate nibble.

  The mage turned back to Elvinor. “Your Majesty—by what dark magic did you all end up down here, while the Unseelie Court has been set loose?”

  “It was Celaidra’s doing. However did you escape her wrath?”

  Egydd’s woolly eyebrows shot up. “Celaidra freed the Unseelie?” He shook his head. “That one of our own could so betray us… It is a bitter blow. I expect for you as well, Mortimer.”

  Morgan inclined his head. “My spirit has been greatly lifted to see you alive and well, old friend. We feared Celaidra had done away with you.”

  Egydd chuckled. “It was a stroke of luck that she didn’t get the chance. I was mixing a potion and added a pinch too much mugwort and, well… let’s just say when the smoke started streaming to the thatch, I happened to glance up and spy a hobgoblin leering down at me! ‘She’s coming!’ the nasty thing chortled. I thought he meant the Unseelie Queen, so once I’d dealt with the hairy little trickster, Cortenus and I hid in the roots under the cottage. When we came back up again, cauldrons were overturned, my stores ransacked, and a cold autumn chill had settled upon the forest.” Egydd’s smile faded. “We set off at once to find out where everyone had gone, and it took some doing, I can tell you. I had to fish a kelpie out of the lake and tickle him silly before he told us where you were.”

  “Where is Cortenus now?” Morgan asked.

  Egydd pointed upward. “I was loath to leave him, what with all the dark faeries and other malicious beasties ravaging the forest, but he suffered a twist of the ankle on our way here.” He clapped his hands. “Now—let’s get you good folk up to the surface before the last of Mithralyn’s magic fades away. It’s a fair climb, but the tunnels in the roots are wide and there’s plenty of air.”

  “No climb is too great if it takes us back to the light,” Elvinor declared. “Lead on!”

  * * *

  Morgan wouldn’t have believed how quickly things had changed in the elven realm if he didn’t see it with his own eyes. In his week’s absence, the trees had dropped their leaves, and wisps of grey mist now threaded their way between the trunks, dimming Mithralyn’s light and mirroring the pale, barren lands beyond its borders.

  The outside world was creeping in.

  Cortenus, however, was a sight for sore eyes. When Morgan said as much, the tutor replied, “As are you, master! Not much else around here is, though.”

  “Mithralyn can be set to rights, now that the elves are back. Provided, that is, that the Unseelie don’t—”

  But before he could finish his sentence, a swarm of angry faeries descended from the branches above their heads, followed closely by a horde of redcaps, their talons and long teeth bared.

  Elvinor gave a piercing whistle, and a herd of elks thundered out of the woods. Morgan leapt astride one of these and brandished his staff as a melee erupted. Goblins, elves, and faeries, fair and foul, joined the fray, and clubs flailed, arrows flew, and hooves thrashed all around him. Plagues of dark creatures continued to pour out of the mist, until it was clear that the elves and Tarna’s folk were greatly outnumbered—and in their weakened condition, they could not hope to defeat this Unseelie horde.

  Out of the cauldron, into the flames, the wizard thought grimly, swinging his staff hard at a hairy faerie with sharp yellow tusks and knocking it cold.

  At Morgan’s side, Frandelas shot an arrow through the single red eye of a mace-wielding fachan, while Elvinor attempted to keep a slew of ballybogs at sword’s length, the muddy creatures bobbing and snapping menacingly around him on their spindly legs. Slowly but surely, the goblins closed in, while the dark faeries, with their new queen, Cliodhna, in the fore, buzzed angrily overhead, flinging curses and lashing their thorny whips with lethal accuracy while keeping well away from the iron blades of the elves.

  Morgan dispatched a drove of clawing hags, then rammed his stave into a dullahan’s chest. The headless horseman toppled from his mount, the shrieking head he cradled rolling away. The screeches and howling reached deafening proportions as more and more monstrous creatures poured out of the woods. Then a vociferous roar blasted through the clamor, drowning out even the loudest beast and filling Morgan’s heart with dread.

  What new devilment can this be?

  He looked to the sky to see three dragons plummeting out of the clouds. The wild, unbound dragons, Morgan realized, come to finish off the last elves of Drinnglennin. Out of old habit, he raised his staff and bellowed at them.

  Combatants on both sides scattered as the dragons descended upon them. But beside Morgan, Egydd stood his ground. He lifted his staff as well and called out, “Gwynt besar, os yw’n gwelwch yn dda, yn cod!”

  A great wind swept before them, rising to meet and repel these new attackers, but although the winged beasts veered, Morgan knew that one mage couldn’t hope to keep that many dragons at bay for long.

  The dragons sped overhead undeterred, diving past the elves toward Cliodhna and her unholy creatures. The dark fae fled before the great beasts’ fiery breath, making for the only avenue of escape left them— the cavern from which they’d only recently been liberated. Those few that tried to veer away were caught in the blaze, and their dying screams were enough to spur on the stragglers.

  With shrieks of terror and fury, Cliodhna and her followers dove down through the cleft in the earth, the dragons blasting a raging inferno after them. And as soon as the last boggart dove squealing below ground, Egydd thrust his staff into the ground. A jagged rift zigzagged away from the mage’s staff, and the earth shook, then splintered, as a huge mound of boulders cascaded into the hole, blocking it completely.

  Elvinor’s shout rang out in the sudden quiet, his sword lifted to the sky. Two more dragons had broken through the clouds. The first was a massive goldwing, with four large, shining birds flanking her, and the second—

  Morgan dropped his staff and fell to his knees. “He did it!” he whispered, tears streaming down his face. “He actually did it!”

  One by one, the dragons came to rest—golden, white, silver, and sea-green—and Morgan saw then that the smaller flyers accompanying them were not birds, but baby dragons. All of the creatures looked up as one more of their kind dropped from the sky, carrying a rider on her blue-scaled back. And as that final dragon landed, Morgan’s heart swelled at the sound of her rider’s familiar laugh.

  Leif.

  As the young dragonfast slid off Rhiandra’s back, the elves surged forward to welcome home one of their own. Elvinor strode through the cheering throng to reach his son first, and clasped him in a long embrace. Leif’s eyes, glittering with a strange new light, found Morgan’s, and when his father released him, he made his way to the wizard.

  “I can only assume,” Morgan said sternly, “that something most pressing kept you away for so long?”

  Leif’s smile dimmed.

 
; The wizard held his arms wide. “The timing of your return more than makes up for the delay.”

  With a laugh, Leif flung himself into Morgan’s embrace.

  “My dear boy,” the wizard said, holding him away to get a good look at him, “I’m so very glad to see you again. From the looks of you, it appears you’ve quite a lot to tell us about these past months.”

  Leif grinned. “Oh, I do, master! But first I must introduce you to my wyrmlings.” He swept out a hand to usher the wizard in the direction of the dragons. “They’re Syrene’s hatchlings, but since they all bound with me, I claim them as well.”

  Morgan, still processing this astounding declaration, joined Elvinor and Tarna in greeting the dragons, and thanked them for saving them all. As he rose from his bow to Syrene, her young peered out from under the golden dragoness’s wings.

  The wizard looked from them to Leif. “Are you saying all four of these wyrmlings pierced your heart, and you survived? This is truly amazing! It certainly accounts for your altered eyes.”

  “I’ve undergone a few other changes, too. I don’t feel the cold anymore, and my sense of smell is incredibly keen.” Leif gazed at the young dragons fondly. “Of course, I’m still bound to Rhiandra, and I’ll always fly with her. But since the more recent bindings, the little ones are ever around me. That’s why I couldn’t come back sooner; I had to wait until they could fly the distance south. But I used the time I had in Belestar to instruct them about the ways of the world, from both a mortal and an elf’s point of view.”

  Morgan regarded him approvingly. “The student is now the teacher.”

  Leif’s eyes widened at the suggestion. He turned to Elvinor. “When I promised you I’d try to serve as a bridge between the elves and the dragons, I didn’t know I would be doing it so… literally.” He dropped his voice. “I’ve told the wyrmlings that humans are our friends. I hope I haven’t misled them.”

  “So do I,” Elvinor replied.

  Morgan nodded grimly. “We must make haste to the capital, else there may be no more humans left to befriend. Lazdac is on the move.”

  Chapter 52

  Fynn

  “It all happened so quick-like!” Grinner paced back and forth in his agitation. “The one moment Borne were the winner, then in the next, he were on the ground with a knife in his heart, while tha’ conniver Roth and that Tribus feller jus’ vanished inta thin air!”

  He and Fynn were in the royal chambers Urlion had once occupied, but the strangeness of this was overshadowed by the horrible outcome of the trial of combat. They had taken Drinnkastel with the support of the people, but there was no sweetness in the victory. Fynn’s champion, Borne, lay on his deathbed, while the blackguard who had put him there had escaped punishment for his treachery. And Fynn had received more bad news just moments before, from Whit. It seemed Drinnkastel would soon be under siege, for a huge Albrenian army, led by their new king, was marching toward the Tor. To make matters worse, rising tensions between Fairendell’s men and the å Livåri had led to a brawl. No one had died, but only because Whit had intervened.

  The only good news was delivered by Halla. She and her dragon had been patrolling Drinnglennin’s coastline, and so far, there’d been no sighting of Lazdac’s armada.

  Fynn perched on the window sill and gazed out at the Tor. He missed the sea views of Cardenstowe and Restaria, where the rolling waves might have carried away some of the desolation threatening to overwhelm him.

  A knock sounded on the door.

  “It’s open,” he called.

  Grinner frowned and reached for his knife, but laid it aside as Halla entered, with Whit on her heels.

  Fynn rose to his feet. “Lady Halla. Something more to report?”

  She shook her head. “No, my lord. But it could be that Lazdac is using magic to hide his fleet.”

  Fynn gestured to the chairs by the window. “You look weary, my friends; please sit.” He settled across from them and poured them each a goblet of ale. “It seems that by entering Drinnkastel, we’ve put the city at greater risk.”

  Whit nodded, his expression somber. “Palan and his army will be here within two days. They’re already crossing the Tor.”

  Halla scowled. “We can take that bastard.”

  “You haven’t heard the latest reports, Halla,” said Whit. “The Albrenian army numbers in the tens of thousands. We have to consider what’s best for the people living here.”

  Halla looked horrified. “What are you suggesting? That we open the gates and let the swine in?”

  Fynn tried to diffuse the tension, even as a wave of exhaustion washed over him. It seemed he rarely got more than a few hours’ sleep these days. “I don’t think that’s what Whit means, my lady. But we’re duty-bound to see that Drinnkastel’s citizens come to no harm. Your cousin has advised me that our best chances lie in waiting the Albrenian army out. They’re not equipped with siege engines, and the capital’s defenses are sound.”

  Whit folded his arms across his chest. “The harvest is in, so we’ve stores for months to come, and there was a frost last night. Winter will soon be here.”

  “Lazdac will soon be here!” Halla looked between them, her eyes blazing. “Or have you forgotten that? We can’t just cower behind these walls! A little cold weather isn’t going to slow the drakdaemons down. They’ll mow through Drinnkastel like a swarm of locusts!”

  “Then how do you propose to stop them?” Fynn asked.

  “With dragonfire, I hope. But Emlyn and I can’t do it alone.” Halla lowered her voice. “How is he?”

  They all knew why she’d asked. Since they’d brought Borne to his bed a day and a half ago, Maura hadn’t left his side, and they expected she would keep vigil until the end.

  Whit’s mouth formed a grim line. “Roth’s knife missed his heart, but only just, and he’s lost a lot of blood. The physikers have exhausted their healing arts; they fear there may have been poison on the blade. If we don’t learn its source…”

  They all turned at a sharp rap on the door, and Master Morgan slipped through it.

  He shook his head at Fynn’s questioning gaze. “There’s been no change,” he said quietly. “And the elixir I delivered from Elvinor had no effect.” He ran a hand over his weathered face. “But with your commander down, my lord, there are several things we need to discuss. I’ve asked Lord Ennius to take temporary command of your army, with the understanding that you may wish to appoint someone else.”

  “I should have thought of that myself,” Fynn said. “Thank you—I’ll trust your judgment in this.”

  Morgan bowed his head in acknowledgment. “Ennius is continuing to round up all the Albrenians here in Drinnkastel. As we agreed, they’ll need to be incarcerated until the time comes when we can consider exchanging them in negotiations with Palan, should it come to that, or ransoming them to their kin abroad. But there’s still the question of what’s to be done with the lords who support the Nelvor. The lords of Nelvorboth, Tyrrencaster, and Lorendale rode off with their vassals in the chaos that ensued after the duel and during our taking of the city. Vetch has disappeared as well. We’ll need to keep any of their countrymen who haven’t yet left the capital from doing so, lest they join our opposition’s forces, although there may not be enough cells to hold them all. Until we know what Roth’s next step will be, we cannot risk these lords and their armies going to his aid should he try to retake the city.”

  “I need to speak with the chief lords of these realms,” Fynn said. “Is there a way to find out where they’ve gone?”

  Yet another knock forestalled Morgan’s answer. It was a servant with a missive for the king. Morgan took it and turned it over.

  “It bears Audric’s seal,” he said. “He’s the Tribus member who took Roth under cover of his magic.” He handed the missive to Fynn.

  Fynn scanned the parchment, then looked up.
“At last, a bit of good news. Master Audric says that Lord DuBleres and the others we were just speaking of are at a place called Harlitch. He wants us to meet with them there to negotiate an agreement regarding what is to become of them and their lands.”

  Morgan brightened. “I know Harlitch. It’s the estate of Lord Marlin, just a handful of miles from here. Marlin’s an honorable man. Roth will likely be there as well, along with the other Tribus members. Otherwise, they would not be so bold as to suggest we meet.”

  A long look passed between Master Morgan and Whit, who gave a slow nod. “Perhaps we can make them tell us what was on Roth’s dagger.”

  Fynn reached for his sword belt. “If these men are to accept me as their High King, I’ll need to convince them it’s in their best interests. We should bring along those lords already sworn to me, as a show of our solidarity.”

  Halla rose and draped her cloak over her shoulders. “Well, then,” she said, “what are we waiting for?”

  * * *

  The low clouds hanging in the pewter sky shadowed Fynn and his supporters as they rode along the southern road to Harlitch. Pellets of sleet stung their faces and clung to their horses’ manes, and Fynn was glad when they entered the relative shelter of the tree-lined allée leading up to Hartlitch’s gates. In comparison to Cardenstowe, Harlitch was a small holding, closer in size to Trillyon than to Whit’s ancestral home. But in the gloom, its torchlit portico was a welcome sight.

  Or would have been, if not for the uncertainty of what was about to transpire within its walls. Fynn knew as well as any that they would have to be on their guard. And even with Whit at his side and Halla circling overhead on Emlyn, he was aware that his decision to accept this invitation to meet with Roth’s supporters could prove to be a terrible mistake. The Nelvor had already confirmed he was capable of duplicity.

  As Fynn and his entourage clattered through the gates, he cast a glance upward, hoping to catch sight of the green dragon. Instead, a crouching stone beast with the face of a demon loomed over him from a rooftop, its sightless eyes wide in the flickering torchlight.