“What about the Gobelins?” she asked. She’d never seen a Gobelin, but the description from Cyrus was enough to paint a mental picture. As if on cue, an image flashed into her mind of a green, wrinkly face with large, saucer-like eyes, and pointed teeth. She shuddered. Cyrus was pulling something from his memories and sharing it with her. He’d never done that before.
“Regarding Gobelins, we cannot be sure where they will attack,” said Reyr, “nor when. But the king is devising a plan to increase our troops in the east.”
“And the Nasks?” She thought about the traitors down in the dark cells beneath the keep.
Reyr was agitated by the mention of them. “We have not yet dealt with them in full, but their time will come.”
“What if Kane gets to them first? Can he possess them again the way he did before? Will they find a way to escape?” She hated being on the sidelines, hated not knowing, hated having to ask so many questions. If they included her like she wanted, she wouldn’t spend so much time speculating.
Reyr shook his head. “You need not worry, Claire. They are heavily chained and under constant surveillance. They will not escape.”
“But what about—” A new thought had just occurred, one that left her heart rate spiking. “What if he possesses new people? What if he turns someone else into his Nask? What if they go down into the dungeons and free the traitors?”
Reyr held up his hands to stop her. “Slow down, slow down. You certainly have a lot on your mind.”
“Well, what do you expect?” She crossed her arms in frustration.
“I suppose I should have visited you sooner. Regardless, I will try to come more often. We have a lot of catching up still, and you owe me your story, remember?”
She nodded, but her story could wait. More frightening things were on her mind. “Reyr, do you think…” she trailed off, considering all the new people she had met in the past few days. “Do you think we can trust everyone in the keep? Is it safe here? What if there are more Nasks plotting to kill me?” She would never be able to sleep now.
“That will always be a possibility. You should stay vigilant in all things, never give anyone too much information, be wary of strangers, trust your instincts.” As he spoke, his eyes gleamed. “I myself trust your instincts.”
She smiled at his praise.
“The king has taken stringent measures to secure the keep.”
“Stringent? How stringent?”
“I suppose that depends. Do you know how a Nask is made?”
It had never occurred to her, so she shook her head. Reyr explained the process. For initial control, the sorcerer needed to perform the magic in person. It was not something that could be carried out from afar. That meant those possessed would need to enter the keep to cause harm. Everyone currently living within was safe from Kane, assuming the two traitors in the dungeons were the only ones.
“The king is no longer allowing newcomers to pass through the gates without intense inspection. This makes it very difficult for those conducting business to come and go, but the measure is necessary. Trust me, Claire, we are on high alert. If you see any strange behavior, anything suspicious, tell me immediately.”
Reassured by his answers, she finally put the subject to rest. Their conversation didn’t go much further. King Talon called Reyr to a meeting. She heard the telepathic request but pretended not to notice. “I am sorry to depart in such a hurry. I must take my leave. The king has need of my council.”
He moved to the door and paused, his hand on the doorknob. “I meant to tell you. It is not yet certain, but I may be taking a journey north in the next few days.”
“North?” Her chest deflated. “Can I come?” She already knew the answer, but it didn’t hurt to ask. She missed flying. She missed the adventure of traveling across Dragonwall from the sky. Most of all, she would miss Reyr if he left.
He bowed his head. “Alas, I wish you could, but you will be safer here.”
“Where will you go?” What was so important to take him away from the capital? Wasn’t he needed here?
“I must pay a proper visit to my brother Davi.”
“Oh, Davi. He is the leader of Fort Squall, right? Didn’t you just visit him when we came here?”
“Aye. A rushed visit it was. It is not certain yet, but if it becomes so, I will come see you before I go. Until then, fare thee well, Claire.” He departed, closing the door behind him.
She was sad to see him leave. His company made her feel safe. Now alone, she thought about Kane, about what he was capable of, about what might happen if any of his spies slipped through the gates. Chills left the hairs of her arms on end. Helplessness was not something she did well.
Paranoid, she wedged her chair under the door handle. Desaree would have to knock from now on. It was too scary to expose herself like that, too risky. She also pulled her backpack from under her bed, loaded the remaining bullets into her revolver, and tucked it under her mattress. Tomorrow she would devise a way to carry it under her gown. If any of Kane’s spies found a way into the keep, found a way to target her, tried anything at all, she would be ready.
44
Fort Squall
Davi wiped sweat from his brow. Squall’s End was blistering hot, today more so than usual, as if the Gods were punishing them for the rising turmoil. And the humidity! How he longed for the blasted season to end. The air suffocated everything, leaving him to envy those further up north. Give him cold. Give him snow. Let it chill him to the bone.
Fortunately the sun was nearing the horizon. That was one small mercy. With its speedy departure the land would cool. He gazed out of his window to regard the waning light as it cast long shadows upon the world. It fled with the utmost haste.
He too was in a hurry. Returning his attention to a stack of letters, he flipped through the next few. Fear of the dead in Kelnia, corpses rising from their graves, corpses who dread only fire. Rumors of a Goag stalking the city of Arkland, he shuddered. A Goag was a mythical creature from Undirfold, twice as tall as any human, with giant curving horns and a gaunt skeletal body. He tossed that one away, shaking his head. Impossible. Nonetheless, he took note of the complaint on his list before turning to the next. Vodar wraiths spotted in Brambleton far north; this one held merit. The next claimed glowing green fiends floated across the marshes near Mistport, dead and undead simultaneously. Each letter was much the same, warning of strange but impossible occurrences. The trend was unsettling.
Finishing the last few lines of summarization, he quickly composed a message and folded it into a pocket sized square. Then he dropped hot wax onto the parchment and pressed his seal to it. When he pulled it away, the wax proudly displayed a coat of arms unique to his ancient clan, with a dragon wielding a sword atop a mountain of iron. The motto beneath the image was minuscule. It read, “Jarnin eflai verus sterk.” In the common tongue it translated to, “Iron makes us stronger.” He and Reyr were some of the last traceable descendants from the great Iron Clan of old. Many died in the Ice Battles to the north, died defending their king and queen.
“Thomas,” he called. His page burst into the room, a young Drengr not yet fledged. “Deliver this to Marek. You know Marek?”
“I—I think so, my lord.”
“Good. Marek is expecting it. Remind him to make haste. This letter must reach Northedge quickly. He leaves tonight. Hurry, catch him before he goes.” The boy rushed forward, taking the letter and exiting his study. Leaning back in his chair, he inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. His mind was hungry for a moment of peace.
A wave of reassurance slammed into him, calming his muscles and easing his tension. “These are frightful occurrences. You have done well, my love. Avraean is wise.” Emmy’s voice in his mind was welcome and soothing.
He sighed. “I hope he will have answers, my sweet. With the king busy to the south, and Reyr’s visit postponed, I must resort to my own devices.”
He felt Emmy smile as if it were his own. “That is why you
are our leader…” The thought was sent as a whisper, a confirmation, a testament to his abilities. His appreciation was immense. If there was one true blessing in this world, it was his mate Emmy.
Opening a desk drawer, he removed Reyr’s letter, looking it over once more. Aside from apologizing, for he had to postpone due to the king’s change of mind, the message merely confirmed much of what Reyr told him during his short visit. Wild Dragons were indeed responsible for the burning of Belnesse. Worse still, they were under the command of an Asarlaí sorcerer by the name of Kane. Could this sorcerer be responsible for the strange, otherworldly occurrences? It was a possibility. He went through the list of measures each fort was expected to take, considering the undertakings in earnest.
Frustrated, he shook his head. The commands were not stringent enough, not nearly enough. Drengr on Drengr combat drills? Doubled patrols? Increased weaponry? None of these addressed the real issue, that of killing a wild dragon.
On a separate sheet of parchment, he began writing his own list of action items, assigning teams to each of the duties by way of brainstorming. If everyone cooperated, tighter measures could be achieved, but it would be a stretch.
A door closed in the main chamber. The sound was muffled, but enough to get his attention. It was fully dark now, which meant he’d missed dinner, but the glorious scent that met his highly sensitive nostrils meant Emmy—bless her—had taken care of that for him.
His heart quickened the moment his eyes fell upon her. After two hundred years, she still had that effect on him. Yes, he was lucky.
Her eyes sparkled. She perceived his thoughts. “You may be lucky,” she teased, “but you will kill yourself if you do not take care. I cannot bring you dinner every night. Eventually you will starve.”
He sighed. “I would have died a long time ago were it not for you.”
She set a plate down beside him then stepped away, but he was too fast for her. Grabbing her arm, he pulled her to his lap. The sound of her giggles left his insides warm. “You best not get distracted, Davi. Eat.” She tried to stand, but his arm tightened around her.
“I can eat just fine with your company, thank you.” To prove his point, he plucked up a roll from the platter and consumed it.
“Well you had better hurry. Your meeting will start in a few minutes. Shall I join you?”
“I would appreciate you there.” He spoke through a mouthful as he quickly crammed food down his gullet. “Even if the other Riders do not attend, your presence would be welcome.” The Riders rarely attended meetings held with his higher ranking Drengr. It was unnecessary due to their bond. With connected minds, having one present was as good as having the pair.
“If you will benefit from my company, then I will attend.”
“You are the ranking woman of the fort, Lady Emmiline, it would be wise.” His serious voice and the use of her full name made his stance obvious.
When the Drengr began filing into his quarters, they set up in the conference room. It was a good thing their Riders did not attend because many of the wing-seconds were forced to stand. The fort was two-hundred Drengr strong, with every wing consisting of twenty Drengr and their Riders. Each wing had a wing-leader and two wing-seconds, based on the wedge formation in which they flew. He only had sixteen chairs around the massive oak table. Emmy sat at the head. He chose to stand beside her.
First orders of business were mundane affairs. “Byron.” He turned to the wing-second, reminding himself to spare the lad embarrassment by remaining professional. “How fares the Search? Have you found enough volunteers?”
Byron nodded, glancing at a wing-second named Fierran before speaking. “Indeed, aside from those who have already arrived, thirty-some travel from Redport as we speak. They should be here within the week.” The Search kept him away with Fierran for nearly a fortnight, ranging all along the coast of Stormy Bay and inland as far as Mistport.
“Good. You have done well.” He bowed his head to Byron, pleased with his performance. He was always pleased with Byron. It was a primary reason the young Drengr was promoted to wing-second so quickly. The lad was meant to lead, and one day he would.
“He is hardly a lad, Davi. You must face his adulthood sooner rather than later.” Emmy often scolded him for this. He looked fondly at Byron, studying his golden hair and prominent features. The lad looked more and more like him every day. “Besides,” Emmy reminded him, “a day will soon come when he has a mate of his own. Do not let him hear you call him lad then, or he may take offense.” He took note.
They caught up on other matters too, discussing the current stores of weaponry and scheduled sweeps for the week. So much talking ensued, Emmy had to inform him that he was stalling. “We cannot be here all night, my love.” He nodded then got to the point, telling his Drengr first of the wild dragons and Kane, for which they were shocked, and then of the strange occurrences written in the letters he received. Many were not surprised about those.
“I heard much the same from a farmer’s mouth when Byron and I visited Mistport,” Fierran said. “I took it as drunken nonsense. Glowing green fiends? Next thing we know, someone will claim that the Vodar indeed have brought their souls with them from Undirfold.”
The Vodar were many things, assassins, otherworldly demons, shepherds of souls. It was entirely possible that during their journey from Undirfold, the souls bound to them followed. The scary thought was one he had not yet considered.
“If I am not mistaken,” said Jeremy, another of the wing-seconds, “it sounds as though you are suggesting a possibility in which all manner of bad things from myth and legend somehow exist when before they did not.”
“Weeks ago, wild dragons were a thing of bedtime stories—bedtime stories we used to scare our children into behaving.” He shook his head at the thought. “But now, this letter alone”—he held up Reyr’s letter, which arrived only that morning—“confirms their existence.”
“So because of their existence, these other more terrifying monsters must also be real?” Byron shook his head, disbelieving. “Surely not.”
“Aye. It is a possibility.”
“Perhaps we have truly stumbled into a nightmare, for how else could such a thing be possible.” Byron looked from Drengr to Drengr, as if pleading with them to protest the idea. But their knowledge was no better than Davi’s.
“Nightmare or not,” he said, “we have a list of tasks to complete. The king advises many things in the wake of dragons. We will see them fulfilled.”
“What of the people?” someone asked. He did not see who.
“The people do not yet know,” he answered. “The king plans to make the announcement at court in the coming weeks. That leads us to the next matter of importance. We here in the North are at greater risk than those in the South. Tomorrow each of you will divide up your wings into groups of five to ride out into Vestur and alert the people.”
“But that will cause mass panic!” Byron jumped to his feet, disturbed. “Can you imagine their reactions? And what happens when they begin flocking in droves to Fort Squall for protection?”
“Tithes alone will not be enough to support them,” another said. All the Dragondoms were responsible for tithing the fort that protected them. They sent portions of their best harvests and animals. Such was the case for thousands of years.
“You are correct, the increase could cause serious problems. I will schedule a meeting with Lord Rhal. We will work to devise a plan that would see many of these refugees housed within the city of Squall’s End.”
There was some grumbling. Their feelings were mixed.
“Listen,” he said, lifting his hands to silence them. “We cannot leave the people uninformed. At least this way they might somewhat prepare.”
“Prepare?” Fierran also stood. “Prepare how? How could any one person, or even a number of ill equipped villagers take down a dragon, not to mention one hundred. I agree with Byron, it is best if they do not know.”
“When they flood
into our cities for protection, it will worsen our position. An easy time it will be for wild dragons to target Squall’s End directly, targeting a congregated and overpopulated expanse. In one fell swoop, they will remove much of the North.”
He looked at Emmy, overcome with helplessness. Their arguments held merit. But it felt dirty, dirty to leave his people unaware, dirty to withhold truth.
“We shall take a vote.” Emmy’s voice broke the silence. Nods rippled around the room. That was generally how matters of import were decided. The fort leader never held absolute power.
Once tallied, the majority were in favor of keeping silent. He was one of the few to oppose the idea. At last they decided a small number of coveys would fly out at dawn, not to inform the people of dragons, but to learn more about the rumors circulating. “We must get to the bottom of these stories,” he concluded. “They may be as important as the dragons. I fear we may have to fight dragons in the air while our people fight monsters on the ground.”
Resulting nods meant his Drengr were happy with the idea. Byron spoke up then. “If I may add, we should also advise the lords to call upon their vassals. Increasing the soldier counts in larger settlements will work to our benefit if a direct assault on the fort occurs.” Byron’s suggestion was met with positivity. His pride for the lad burned deeply within his chest.
“I agree. Sound advice, Byron. We will do that as well.” He then took suggestions from each of the Drengr present. The meeting continued late into the night until many of his Drengr were drooping with exhaustion. Emmy did her best to scribble notes for each decided outcome until everyone was satisfied. Having a plan of action was a relief, but in no way did he feel better. The road ahead would be difficult.
At last he and Emmy retired to their private quarters. Too fatigued to speak, she did little more than peck him on the cheek before curling into his arms. When her breathing steadied, and her mind calmed into nothingness, he knew she finally slept. Only then could he dare consider the terrifying outcomes that would plague them. How many would die in the approaching darkness? How could a kingdom possibly stand against the wretched threats at the borders, and the harrowing monsters within the walls? No, there would be no sleep for him that night, nor any for the nights to come. There was only fear, fear and terror for what they would face. And that monster alone would prove most difficult to conquer.
Talon the Black Page 39
