“Not for me either. I want to marry you,” Zollin said. “In fact, I think about it all the time.”
“So let’s get a few hours’ sleep. I don’t want the people here to see the dragons.”
“Me either.”
They lay down together. Brianna rested her head on Zollin’s shoulder and he wrapped his arms around her. The room was stuffy, but they were both tired and fell asleep quickly. Zollin woke up at dawn, his body stiff from lying still so long. He luxuriated in Brianna’s warmth, smelling her hair for a few moments before waking her.
“Time to go,” he whispered.
She stood up and stretched. Then they left the inn quietly. The sun was casting the sky in a bright pink when they reached the pride. Zollin knew the big beasts were surely hungry and exhausted, but the dragons took to the air without complaint.
It was an hour before they saw the lone tent. Zollin’s curiosity got the best of him and the pride landed within sight of the conspicuous structure. There were no forests to hide in, not even a hill to land behind. Distance was their only defense. They were well over a mile from the road and the tent, which was set up a short ways off the road. The sides of the tent had been rolled up so that the breeze could pass through-what little breeze was to be had in the hot, arid countryside.
Zollin let his magic flow toward the tent. He was sure whoever was inside had seen them, but they hadn’t fled. Zollin sensed the healer first-the man seemed settled into a nest of cushions, nursing a bottle of wine. Then Zollin touched Prince Wilam with his magic and recoiled instantly. Zollin couldn’t read a person’s mind, but if he let his magical senses flow and opened them fully to the environment, he could get a sense of what was happening or the way a person might be feeling. Just touching the crippled prince sent a shock of horror and agonizing pain through Zollin.
“Zollin, are you all right?” Brianna asked. Behind her Ferno rumbled angrily. The big green dragon was ready to launch itself toward the tent.
“They’ve tortured someone,” Zollin said, his voice shaking a little. “We have to help.”
Zollin didn’t wait for the dragons or Brianna. He levitated through the air. A mile seemed like a long way, but he moved the full distance without even thinking about it. He knew he needed to help, to stop the pain no matter who was in the tent. He came down just outside the small structure, causing the healer to scramble to his feet.
“Who, who, who?” he stammered.”
“I’m here to help,” Zollin said. “Who are you?”
“Zorn. I’m a healer. I’m helping this man.”
“Who is he?” Zollin asked.
“I don’t know who you are,” Zorn said, obviously torn between fear and awe. He’d seen Zollin drop from the sky right in front of his tent, but he was beginning to think he’d drunk more wine than he realized.
“I’m a wizard. I can help him,” Zollin said. “Who is he? Why was he tortured?”
“He’s a prince, I believe. From the north. King Zorlan had him questioned. I had no part in that. I’m just trying to help.”
“You’ve done enough,” Zollin said. “Are you from Felxis?”
“Yes.”
“Good, get moving north. Right now. Don’t stop. Just go. I’ll know if you leave the main road and I’ll kill you. Don’t stop, you understand?”
“I, I, I understand,” the healer said. He started gathering his things. The tent and cushions had been carried on a wagon, but that wagon had gone on with King Zorlan when he moved after his troops. The healer had no horse, so he packed his medicines and started to take the wine.
“Leave that,” Zollin said. “I’ll need it.”
The healer didn’t argue. He took a canteen of water and some of the food rations. Then he hurried away. If he saw the dragons, he made no sound, just kept his head down and walked as quickly as he could.
“Who is that?” Brianna asked. She had come into the tent after Zollin’s conversation. “My god, what did they do to him?”
“The tortured him for information,” Zollin said. “And if I’m right, he’s our future king.”
“You mean?” Brianna said, the shock evident in her voice. “You mean this is Prince Wilam?”
“I think so,” Zollin said, “but there’s only one way to find out for sure. Tell the pride to keep watch-we’re going to be busy for a while.” Then he knelt beside Wilam and let his magic flow into the prince’s ruined body.
Chapter 26
Offendorl and Havina entered the Grand City through the southern gate. Normally the Grand City was full of people. Usually there were merchants and vendors selling every type of good from all across the Five Kingdoms. The streets were often crowded, the inns busy, the marketplace a cacophony of haggling voices. Now the city seemed almost deserted. Except for the men on the tall stone walls, there was no one to be seen.
“It seems deserted,” Havina said in a quiet voice.
Offendorl was thankful that his young companion did not often speak, and when she did it was usually a comment that needed no reply. She drove the small covered carriage with as much skill as a teamster and brought them quickly to the city from the small village of Castlebury, which was little more than ashes and memories now. Offendorl had not wanted to draw attention to the fact that Havina was a woman. He suspected that most of the women in the Grand City had fled or been forced into menial tasks. There would be no women visiting the city, so Offendorl dressed her in men’s clothing. She had submitted meekly, even allowing him to cut her hair without complaint. He had added a wide brimmed hat-which was common in Osla-to shade her face, which was still fresh and young. She was not a beautiful girl in the classic sense-her nose was a little too wide, her lips thin, and her eyebrows pronounced. But she was completely feminine, a quality not completely lost on Offendorl, which he found surprising. He offered her a rare reply to her comment.
“It is as I suspected it would be,” he said. “Turn here.”
They wound their way through the city, trying to look like visitors searching for a place to stay. Offendorl knew exactly where he wanted to go, of course, but he didn’t want to draw unwarranted attention. They could see the tower before they reached the city, and drew closer to it with every step their horse took. They settled on an inn near the tower. The innkeeper was there, but he was glassy eyed and completely neglecting his guests. The men gathered at the establishment drank ale and ate because the innkeeper’s wife continued to work, but there was no payment, and the morale in the inn was sour.
“Whom do I speak to about a room?” Offendorl asked.
No one responded.
Offendorl was undeterred. The inn had no stable, so Havina was seeing to their horse at a nearby livery stable. Meanwhile, Offendorl went from room to room until he found one unoccupied and with a semblance of cleanliness. The small beds were made and there was no trash or personal belonging scattered about. He went to the window and was pleased to find that he had an excellent view of the front entrance to the tower. There were soldiers on guard there, but only a dozen. As he sat watching them, Havina returned. She had seen to the horse and carriage, and now she seemed intent on providing for Offendorl’s other needs.
He had given her coin as they traveled so she could buy food and wine for him. She went down to the kitchens and returned with a bottle of wine and the promise of a midday meal soon. After she poured his drink, she sat on the small bed, quietly watching the Master of the Torr. He sipped his wine and watched the tower. He was reasonably sure that as long as he did no magic, Gwendolyn would not know he was there.
He’d been watching for an hour or more when a frantic looking soldier came running to the Torr. The soldiers guarding the tower must have recognized him because they didn’t question him or hinder his entrance to the tower.
“Something is amiss,” Offendorl said. “Go and see what you can learn around the city.”
“Yes, my lord,” Havina said.
She put the wide brimmed hat back on, pulling it down low so that it cov
ered her eyebrows. She left the inn and walked through the streets with her gaze low, allowing the hat to hide her face. She wandered aimlessly. The news of the army’s return was being talked about all over, and after discovering that only a small fraction of the original force had returned, she reported her findings.
“So, Gwendolyn has suffered a loss on the battlefield,” Offendorl said, speaking his thoughts out loud. “Of course, she did not go herself, no. That would never do. She won’t leave the tower until she has defeated me, not even to fend off entire armies. Are they locking down the city?”
“I believe so, my lord.”
“Yes, that makes sense. We can use the distraction to strike at Gwendolyn. Let us wait and see what will happen.”
Offendorl never left the small seat by the window. The afternoon was hot and very little air stirred in the inn. Sweat dripped down the elder wizard’s forehead and he wiped it away with a silk handkerchief. The wine did nothing to cool him, but he drank it anyway. He longed to be back in his tower, high above the stench of the city and the sweltering heat. Waiting, now that he was so close, was incredibly difficult, but he forced himself to wait. The time would come soon. If an army encamped around the city, Gwendolyn would be forced to deal with it, and when she did she would be exposed and vulnerable.
Night came and went, but Offendorl did not move. Soldiers jogged through the streets. Men were called from all across the city, even those who weren’t soldiers. Every man was needed on the walls. The inn was abandoned by everyone except Offendorl, Havina, and the innkeeper’s forgotten wife, who hid in the kitchens.
Offendorl watched as men ran to the tower and reported the enemy’s movements. Offendorl couldn’t hear the reports, but he could guess what was happening. Any competent military commander would surround the city and choke off its vital supplies. The walls could be defended by her men, but if the besieging army was of any size, Gwendolyn would have to drive them away. Offendorl hoped that with her attention on the army he could catch her unaware.
“It is time to finish this,” Offendorl said to Havina. “Come, sit here,” he said, rising from the chair he had occupied for so long. “You shall have an unrestricted view of what is to come.”
Havina, trembling with fear and anticipation, sat in the small, wooden chair.
“You have been loyal and I shall not forget,” he told her as he stretched his stiff muscles. Then he took a long drink of wine and placed the golden crown on his head.
“Now,” he said out loud for Havina’s sake. “Attack the tower.”
Offendorl removed the crown. He could see the question in the woman’s eyes. He decided to share his knowledge with the woman. After all, she was not a magic user, he reasoned. “The crown is inscribed with the name of the dragon,” he told her. “It gives me complete mastery over the beast.”
She smiled. The thought of his mastery over the huge, fire-breathing dragon made her pulse race. Offendorl smiled in return. He was ancient, his body kept alive by magical rejuvenation, and the passions of men had long since died for him-or so he thought. He had surrounded himself with men for centuries. He had no need for women, and in most cases did not trust other men around them. But now Havina, barely a woman, was awakening a part of the elder wizard he had not anticipated. He had strong feelings for her. Partly lust, partly simple appreciation for her service, but mostly he found himself hoping to receive her affection.
“When this is over, I shall make you my queen,” he said. “If that would please you.”
“It would, more than anything else,” she said, her voice seductive and low, practically purring.
“Good, wait for me here,” he said. Then he turned and swept from the room.
For days he had been anxious to do battle with Gwendolyn, to sweep her from her lofty perch and cast her down at his feet. But he had not expected the battle to be easy, and so a tiny pinprick of fear had stabbed at the back of his consciousness for days. He had resolutely ignored it, but the feeling refused to go away. Now it seemed that hope for Havina’s affections had driven the fear completely away, and Offendorl found a new spring in his step.
Perhaps what Havina craved wasn’t Offendorl the man. He understood that she was drawn to his power, not his physical form, but still he felt more alive than he had in decades. His body tingled with anticipation of returning to his full power in the Torr and seeing her look of hungry passion as she sat at his feet. He was ready, he decided. He only needed to wait until Bartoom arrived, then he would begin his attack.
* * *
The Grand City was always an imposing sight. It’s high walls and lofty buildings spoke of untold wealth and prestige. King Zorlan had coveted the city since he had seen it for the first time as a boy. Now it sat before him and his army, a glistening jewel just waiting for Zorlan to pick it up. He imagined himself on the throne, ruler of two, perhaps even three kingdoms. The thought filled him with such a sense of excitement that he practically shook with anticipation.
King Zorlan had sent his assassins into the city a full day before the army arrived. The information that he had tortured from Prince Wilam was invaluable. After discussing his plans with his generals, they had agreed to lay siege to the city. It was a diversion, meant to cause panic in the Grand City and at the same time lull the witch into a sense of security. If she was focused on the army outside the walls, she would not be watching for the assassins already inside.
“Your orders, my lord?” asked one of Zorlan’s generals.
“See to it that men are posted around the city,” he said. “I want to know if anything changes inside those walls.”
“Aye, my lord.”
“And see to it that everyone has rations. We shall celebrate our victory soon. There’s no need to keep the men waiting.”
“I shall make it so, my liege.”
The general bowed and hurried away.
“Ale,” Zorlan bellowed. He was watching the northern gate of the city. A large canvas awning had been erected and he was sitting on a raised platform under it. He preferred wine, but in the stifling heat he couldn’t bring himself to drink wine. The ale was cooler and more refreshing. A cup was brought and King Zorlan took it without a word of thanks or even a nod of appreciation.
He couldn’t believe his good fortune. Osla was the wealthiest of all the kingdoms, and now it was practically undefended. For years Zorlan had dreamed of expanding his empire, but breaking three centuries of peace between the Five Kingdoms was not a matter to take lightly. When King Oveer and King Belphan had pressured him to join their quest, he had pretended to be uncertain. It was not a difficult act to play, since he feared the other kings and their wizard. But now war had begun, and as luck would have it, Zorlan had come out on top. He’d seen King Belphan struck down by the master of the Torr, but the wizard had not been seen or heard from since. And now fully half of King Oveer’s army was destroyed. Even if the rumor of Oveer’s death wasn’t true, Zorlan was still in a position to dominate a third kingdom and expand his power.
But if the rumor were true… he thought to himself, unable to hide the smile that thought brought to his face. If it were true, he would rule three of the Five Kingdoms. And, once he had a firm grasp on the southern kingdoms, he would turn his attention north.
He had been mocked and easily dismissed in the high court. He had been a pawn during every Council of Kings. The other rulers had seen him as weak, fearful, and indecisive. But now he had risen to the top. His true quality was revealing itself and his good fortune had given the King of Falxis confidence.
“Sound the horns,” he commanded.
“What for, my lord?” asked the general, who was watching the activity of the army as they spread out around the city.
The mobilization of nearly four legions of troops around the largest walled city in the Five Kingdoms would take time, but those orders had been delivered, and other than attack or retreat, the war horns were rarely used.
“I want to strike fear into the heart
s of the men on those walls. I want to announce their doom. Now sound the horns!” Zorlan said irritably.
Dust from the troops spreading out around the city was rising into the air. The horns sounded their deep, braying notes. The sound rolled out and echoed off the city walls. King Zorlan could see the soldiers on the walls running back and forth as they prepared for what they assumed would be an imminent attack. He smiled once again, knowing that he planned no action until the following day. Then he would ride out with his generals and request a parley with this queen of theirs. Prince Wilam had said that she was sequestered in the tower of the Torr, but Zorlan would draw her out and give his assassins the opportunity to strike.
It was a genius plan, he thought; simple, yet sophisticated. And once the witch was dead, he would offer the soldiers in the city a chance to return home in peace as long as they pledged their loyalty to him. It was simple choice, really-if they stayed, they would starve or die by the sword. His offer would allow them to return to homes and family. And if King Oveer lived, he would swear fealty to Zorlan or die. Either way, the whole of three kingdoms would soon be his alone.
“Sire,” said one of the generals who was sheltering under King Zorlan’s tent. “What is that?”
Zorlan looked up, and for the first the time in weeks fear erupted in his heart. He had seen the black dragon in Yelsia-the beast was unmistakable.
“The Torr,” he hissed. “That is the wizard’s dragon.”
Chapter 27
Zollin had healed broken bones, stab wounds, and even burns, but he had never encountered the total destruction of a man’s legs like Prince Wilam’s. It was as if whoever had tortured him knew where every bundle of nerves lay so that they caused the maximum amount of pain without risking his life. It took hours to repair the damage. The swelling was so intense Zollin was forced to reopen wounds to let the blood drain.
It was fully dark by the time Zollin finished, and Prince Wilam was still unconscious. The tortured prince was pale, his skin glistening with a sheen of sweat. Brianna had spent the day beside Zollin, offering him wine when he took breaks. She had prepared a simple meal for them when he finished, and had unbuckled the prince’s leg manacles. The bruising and swelling was gone. Zollin didn’t have Wilam’s toenails to replace, so the prince’s feet would be tender until the nails regrew. Brianna gave Zollin his supper and then began bathing the prince with a cool, wet cloth.
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