Dragonsbane (Book 3)

by Shae Ford

  Kael concentrated hard on fixing the cracks in the stone, but Griffith’s blows came faster than he could seal. They fell in a steady barrage, jarring his thoughts before he had a chance to collect them. The fissures widened as his concentration slipped. The slaps began to sting through the cracks in his armor.

  Griffith’s eyes grew brighter; his blows grew stronger. A strange, twisting grin bent his mouth as he struck Kael again and again. It wasn’t exactly a cruel look …

  But it wasn’t a merciful one, either.

  At last, Kael could hold on no longer. His concentration slipped and the chipped edges of his stoned flesh cracked, falling away just as Griffith’s hand collided with his face.

  One moment Kael was standing there, gritting his teeth against what he knew would be an ear-ringing slap to the jaw — and the next, he was sailing through the air.

  A strange feeling coursed through his body as he landed, more shock than pain. The wildmen pounded their fists viciously against the tabletops. They whistled and howled.

  Even Gwen seemed excited. She leaned forward in her chair, fists clenched on the table in front of her. Red bloomed behind the swirling lines of her paint as she cried: “The mutt has lost his footing. Finish him!”

  Her face disappeared, then — blotted out by the flesh-colored lumps of steel that collided with Kael’s face.

  He threw up his arms, but Griffith knocked them aside. His fists pounded in a merciless beat. They slammed into Kael’s nose, cut his lip against his teeth, tested the hinges of his jaw — they rattled him so badly that his ears struggled to keep pace. The crazed thunder of the wildmen’s pounding faded back until all he could hear was the steady thud of Griffith’s fists.

  The pain was too much. His mind couldn’t tell him how badly he ached because there were simply no words to describe it. Kael stopped fighting. He lay back and his hands fell limply to his sides.

  One final blow sent him into the darkness.

  Chapter 20

  The Greatest Power

  Kael woke to the warmth of a fire and the cool grace of the morning sky. The beams of the hospital’s roof were black lines against the gray dawn. The craftsmen had been working on rebuilding it since they first arrived. Though they’d set and sealed the walls, they hadn’t quite gotten around to finishing the roof. Perhaps he would do that today …

  Provided he ever managed to get his face arranged back to the way it’d been before Griffith scrambled it.

  “Good dawn to you, young man!”

  Kael groaned as Baird stumbled over to him. He carried an earthen bowl filled with water. It sloshed out the sides as he walked, splattering onto the floor. By the time he made it over to Kael’s bed, the bowl was nearly empty.

  “Did you hear the news? Kael the Wright claimed a mighty victory last night. Oh yes, just when he was doomed to perish, he called forth the fires and the wind — escaping the jaws of Death! Who is this man who tames the earth’s fury? To whom even flame must ans —? Oh, dear.”

  He’d tried to set the bowl on the edge of Kael’s bed but missed fantastically. It struck the floor and cracked like an egg, spilling what was left of the water.

  “What are you doing here?” Kael said as he eased himself onto his elbows.

  Right now his bed was more like a table than anything: four legs with a flat space in the middle. He’d begun stitching a mattress from the skins of the animals he trapped, but hadn’t quite gotten around to finishing it. At least the bed’s frame kept him off the icy ground.

  Baird smiled widely. “I’ve been hunting for a place to keep my treasures, and that room in the back has plenty of shelves.”

  Kael groaned again.

  He waited until Baird had shuffled away before he tried to sit up. His face sloshed forward as he dragged himself from bed. Swollen lumps covered nearly inch of him. They sat so heavily that when he leaned over, he swore they nearly fell through his skin.

  Bile rose in his throat as his fingers traced the damage. His nose was off-center, his lip was split, and he thought his jaw might’ve come a little unhinged. But at least he still had all of his teeth. Kael remembered the sharp lines of his face. He knew exactly how it fit back together — he just hoped he could stay conscious through the healing.

  There were a few moments when he had to stop and take a breath, but he eventually managed to get his features rearranged. The bruises faded beneath his fingers, his nose slid back into place, and his jaw was tightly hinged. Soon there was no trace of what Griffith had done to him.

  Still, he didn’t think he would ever forget that beating.

  No sooner was he finished than the door creaked open and Griffith ducked in. “I brought you some moss … Fate’s fingers.” He dropped the hairy bundle he’d been carrying and leaned to look at Kael’s face. “You can’t even tell.” He perched at the end of the bed, hands twisting in his lap. “I just wanted to stop by and say … uh …”

  Kael watched as he wound the blue marble through his fingers. “Why do you do that?”

  He waved a hand. “It helps me keep my thoughts in order. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry — not because I beat you, but because I beat you so badly.”

  Kael thought that was about the worst apology he’d ever heard. But he nodded anyways. “It’s all right. No harm done.”

  “Good. It’s just that when I know I’m winning, I get a little excited. Though I don’t have to tell you,” he said with a wink. “You know how it is — your blood bubbles in your ears, your chest swells up and you feel like you can topple the whole blasted mountain!”

  Kael had never felt like that. Not once. The few times he’d managed to do anything remotely strong, it had been because he had to — because he’d had no other choice. He didn’t enjoy fighting and he certainly never remembered feeling as if he could topple a mountain.

  In fact, he couldn’t remember a time when he’d known for certain he was going to win.

  “Your muscles must be made of stone,” Griffith went on. “By the time I knocked you back, I felt like I really had toppled a mountain!” He slammed a fist into one of the bedposts — and the floor trembled in protest. “Oops. Gwen’s always yelling at me for wrecking things. She says the control will come in time, but I’m still a little raw. Sorry, again.” He slapped Kael on the knee and got to his feet.

  “I’m just glad it’s all done with,” Kael said.

  Griffith paused at the door. “Done with? Oh no, it isn’t done. Look — I know you were going easy on me because I’m not as strong as you, but Gwen wants to see what you’re made of. You’ve got to really beat me tonight. I’m not going to stop until you do,” he added cheerily. Then he whipped the door open and disappeared.

  Oh, for mercy’s sake — Griffith thought he’d let him win. He had no idea that he’d truly beaten Kael to a nub. He didn’t care what Gwen thought of him: there was no way he was going through that torture again.

  As if that thought had summoned her, Gwen came bursting through the door. The latch slammed against the wall and shook it dangerously. “On your feet, mutt. We’ve got work to do.”

  “What sort of work?”

  It was the wrong thing to say. Gwen jerked him up by the fleshy part of his arm and hurled him towards the door — throwing in a sharp kick to the rump for good measure. “We’re going on a hunt.”

  “Well, then I’ll need my bow.”

  Her fiery hair seemed to stand on end as she snarled: “I’ll tell you what you need, mutt. You need to shut your mouth — or I’ll clobber you so hard it’ll seal your lips together. Understood?”

  She shoved him out the door before he could answer.

  “Farewell, young man. Breathe the air and feast upon the flowers’ bloom!” Baird called from the office.

  Kael had no intention of doing that. In the mountains, any flower that wasn’t poisonous was thick with thorns.

  He’d made to follow Gwen up the hill when he glanced back and saw something rather alarming: a trail of smoke r
ose from the middle of the village. When he looked closer, he saw that the Hall’s roof was gone. The shingles lay scattered and the beams curled upwards like the ribs of a carcass, charred on their tips.

  Kael’s heart stuttered inside his chest. He tried to sprint towards it, but a thrust of Gwen’s boot sent him to the ground. “It’s nothing. The craftsmen’ll have it fixed before supper.”

  “What hap —?”

  “It’s nothing.” Each word was a warning of its own — a promise carved into the flint of her eyes. “Now shut your mouth and follow me.”

  They traveled deep into the woods, jogging until the noise of Tinnark had faded and they were surrounded by the voices of the wilds. Then quite suddenly, Gwen stopped.

  She sat cross-legged upon the rocky ground and Kael sat before her, wary. He’d learned the hard way never to relax around Gwen: the moment he thought he was safe, he’d usually get a slap across the ears.

  “Griffith’s been hanging off my jerkin for days now, begging me to teach you to fight like a wildman. He’s convinced that you’re something special. But we know the truth, don’t we?” she said with a smirk. “You’re too far gone.”

  Kael sank back. He’d been thinking a lot about what the craftsmen had told him — about how the whisperers of Midlan had filled themselves with knowledge until their doubt had crippled them. The wildmen didn’t seem to know much about anything. Just the other day, one of the craftsmen had asked him how he’d managed to tame the little wooden birds he carried across his back. And yet … they were capable of extraordinary feats.

  The wildmen worked tirelessly, fought fearlessly, rode monstrous trees to the ground — it was like they’d never learned to doubt. Being a wildman meant leaping without looking … and in the time he’d been among them, Kael had begun to realize that he’d spent his whole life looking without leaping.

  He wasn’t sure if he would ever find that sort of reckless strength. But he was determined to try. “I’m not too far gone. I can learn. I want to learn.”

  Gwen didn’t reply. Instead, she drew a wooden triangle from her pocket and set it upon the ground. There were no designs carved into its surface, no words or explanation. The triangle stood on its base between them, pointing at the treetops.

  “Do you know why the triangle is in the symbol of the Wright? Because it represents balance — the need to think with three different minds. But no matter how balanced you are, one side is always greater.” Gwen waved a hand at the carving. “Which is it?”

  Kael’s first thought was that all the sides were equal. They were all the same length, after all. But if that was the case, why hadn’t Gwen laid it flat? Why did she have it sitting up?

  “This one,” he said finally, pointing to the base.

  “And why’s that?”

  “Because it’s the side that holds the others up.”

  She snorted. “A typical craftsman’s answer — always trying to find some deep meaning behind every little thing. That’s your problem, mutt: you can’t just ball your fists and crack a boulder in half. You have to have a reason to. Weakness,” she grunted. “A healer would’ve told you all the sides were equal, and a warrior would’ve said that this here,” she touched the tip that pointed skyward, “was the only place worth reaching.”

  Kael hadn’t even thought of the point. “I’m not much of a warrior.”

  “There’s war in your blood, mutt. You may have a craftsman’s mind, but you’ve also got a warrior’s eye and a healer’s heart.”

  Though he hated to admit it, what Gwen said made sense. There were times when Kael thought he might’ve felt a bit like a healer — especially when he mind-walked. A couple of times, he’d dived past the memories and stumbled into something deeper. He’d burned with Declan’s rage and cried Kyleigh’s tears.

  Yes, the healer he could believe.

  But he was less certain about the warrior.

  “A bird may be born with wings, but that doesn’t mean it hatches knowing how to fly. What you need is a swift kick from the nest,” Gwen said with a grin that made his toes curl. “There’s no thinking involved in war. It’s all about what you see. Haven’t you ever done anything without thinking?”

  He certainly had — more times than he cared to remember. He’d held the sails down during the rage of the tempest, fallen through fire to gouge the heart of the Witch. A numbness had covered him after he’d murdered Bloodfang. He’d felt as if he watched through a cloud as Duke Reginald’s guards fell under his knives and arrows.

  But that had been long ago, long before the reign of the black beast. His battle with Holthan was the last time he remembered doing anything without thinking. He had no idea how he’d managed to kick the sword so high, or how it’d wound up falling just right … but he could still hear the wet crunch of the blade cutting through Holthan’s chest.

  Now that he thought back, he wasn’t certain that it’d been strength at all. It had probably only been luck.

  “I can’t fight like I used to,” he admitted. “Somewhere along the way, I’m not sure when, everything became more difficult. The world’s not as simple as it used to be. I’m not sure I could ever fight without thinking.”

  Gwen snorted. “Then you might as well get used to cooking and chopping up trees, because that’s all you’ll be good for. A Wright who doesn’t know how to war is about as useful as a bird without wings.”

  She got to her feet and had started to clomp away when a swell of something pushed Kael forward. “Wait — I want to try.”

  “I’m not sure you’re worth it. But if you insist …” She thrust a finger over his shoulder. “Go snap that in half.”

  A tree hung over the path behind him — the skeleton of a giant that’d been toppled by a storm long ago. It was wedged against the limbs of a neighboring tree, forming a bar that hung at about shoulder height.

  Kael pressed his palms against it, testing it, but the tree didn’t budge. He rammed his hands into it like Griffith had done. Once, twice, three times he struck. He’d expected something amazing to happen on the fourth blow, but it didn’t. Even by the seventh, the tree still hadn’t budged an inch.

  He was beginning to get frustrated. “Why don’t I just turn my arms into blades and hack through? What’s the point of —?”

  He had to duck suddenly to avoid getting his head knocked off. A rock thudded into the toppled tree, burying itself an inch into the bark. Gwen casually reached for another.

  “A craftsman’s power ends at his fingertips. If he can’t touch it, he can’t change it. War is different from craft.” She turned the stone over, studying its jagged edge. “War is the ability to walk the earth with force — to send tremors that topple your enemies.” Her arm cocked back. “Now try it again, or I swear by Fate’s tattered robes that I’ll put a fresh hole between your eyes.”

  There was no point in huffing and stomping his feet. Arguing with Gwen wouldn’t get him anywhere. He knew he had strength inside him. He’d used it before. The problem was that the only times he’d meant to use it, it had been for simple things.

  It wasn’t that far of a stretch to believe he could hold his own in a pirate’s gauntlet, or pull a giant’s plow. That sort of strength came easily. But what about the impossible things he’d done? That was the strength he needed to find. If he could figure out someway to summon that power at will, then there might be a chance, however small …

  No. No, he wouldn’t think about that right now. It was like Roland had always said: There’s no point in planning a journey if you can’t even open the door.

  So he tried again.

  He slammed his palms into the tree so many times that his arms went numb. The insides of his head rattled against his skull. Sweat poured from his scalp and stung his eyes. The tree’s weathered skin rubbed raw patches into the undersides of his fingers. They swelled into blisters and burst, weeping down his wrists.

  He pounded furiously, stepping back and charging into the tree with open palms. Find you
r strength, he said to himself. Come on, you idiot — find it!

  Gwen’s eyes burned the back of his neck as he lined himself up with the tree and prepared for another charge. Then, just before he could take off, she muttered something under her breath:

  “The greatest power I have is that which I give myself.”

  The words came alive as they struck his ears. They mingled with another chant he knew, twisting together until he heard them both at once: The greatest power I have is that which I give myself … and in the quiet of the darkness, I see only what must be done.

  Another thread popped loose. There they were — every line of his story, every impossible thing he’d ever done lay in a tangled mass before him. Each one was bound to the next by its ends, held down the line by a single knotted something … an idea he cleaved to so forcefully that it’d been enough to hold his strength together. But what was it?

  I see only what must be done …

  That was it. Every remarkable thing he’d ever done hadn’t been about trying to reach the highest point. He had no desire to topple the mountains or become the greatest. The moments when he’d found his power had been when he was doing what needed to be done … mercy’s sake — the tangle was coming loose.

  But why had those things needed to be done?

  That was the question he had to answer now, the reason his mind needed to finally let go. Kael held onto that single, fragile thread of thought as if it was the one thing keeping him from drowning in the depths of the sea. He studied it, watched as it trembled under the force of his gaze — trying desperately to understand what it was that the thread had him anchored to.

  Then all at once, a storm broke over his thoughts.

  The tangle of his memories, his weaknesses, his fears — all rose up before him. His doubt was a leviathan of the deep. The reflection of his every foolish mistake glistened inside its gullet. All of the frozen bodies of the pirates and the giants made up its scales. Noah’s wound gaped at him from a hole in the leviathan’s chest. When it breathed, it spewed Thelred’s blood across his face.