When Dragons Rage

by Michael A. Stackpole

  That first night they’d found the storehouse that Verum had mentioned. The Draconis Baron had managed to scatter caches of firedirt and other supplies around Fortress Draconis, less against the need to retreat from it than for forces operating behind enemy lines.

  Well, we’re certainly behind the lines.

  In that storehouse they replenished their supplies and drew winter clothing. The storehouse did contain a number of draconettes, but none of the latest variety. Still, the shot and firedirt worked in their quadnels, so they loaded up with enough for two hundred shots each. With clothing, food, and weaponry, every one of them moved out with an average of sixty pounds of equipment.

  Only Erlestoke had been exempted because his chest still ached from the blow he’d been struck. Jilandessa had performed some simple spells and determined that nothing had been broken, but his ribs had been loosened in his breastbone. She offered to spell him back into shape, but he’d refused, figuring that if he lived long enough, he’d heal naturally.

  The others split up his gear, leaving him to carry shot, powder, a quadnel, and the fragment of the DragonCrown. The fragment wasn’t that heavy, so he was able to move along with everyone as they trekked south. The storehouse had yielded snowshoes, which did let them move more quickly, but any sort of hike through the cold was still pretty rough.

  Their first day of travel had been through a snowstorm, which they actually welcomed as it hid their tracks. It did little to hide the signs of the Aurolani hordes and their passing, however. The carcasses of half-eaten animals, wagons that had been taken and then discarded when overworked draft beasts died, and even the frozen bodies of gibberers who had been slain by compatriots or the cold, marked the trail well. The presence of dead gibberers did not surprise Erlestoke, as winter marching was always taxing. It was actually the paucity of bodies that he found difficult to believe.

  Ryswin shrugged when he mentioned this. “They come from the north. This weather is something they are used to. It might even seem mild to them.”

  “Which puts them at an advantage in a winter war.” Erlestoke sighed. “How long do you think it will take Sebcia to fall?”

  The elf’s eyes narrowed for a moment, then he shook his head. “A lot of troops moved south. It’s probably already gone. Muroso might be gone, too. Dragonels and dragons make Chytrine very powerful, especially against fortresses built to withstand conventional sieges.”

  Like the ones in Oriosa. Erlestoke had long resisted identifying himself with the nation of his birth. His father had embarked on a course that Erlestoke despised. The murder of his grandmother made him hate Chytrine, and made him determined to destroy her. It just terrified his father, and he did whatever he could to appease her. For that reason Erlestoke had traveled north to Fortress Draconis and begged his uncle, the Draconis Baron, to accept his service.

  Despite that determination, however, the ties to his homeland still bound him. Just because he had no love for his father did not mean that he did not love Oriosa. He did not want to see Oriosans killed and their homes destroyed. Not only had his aunt been evacuated with his cousins there, but his own mistress and their child had gone south. It occurred to him that they must all suppose him dead, which only heightened his desire to return home.

  If I can.

  Their situation was precarious, and that was only if one was generous in assessing the dangers. The first day’s snow likely kept Aurolani troops in Fortress Draconis, so there would be at least a day’s gap between them and the troops moving farther south. That gap could be easily closed, but it provided them a narrow window of passage. Ideally they would move south, then cross the Tynik River and slip into Sarengul. There the urZrethi would provide them sanctuary or at least a route into Alosa.

  Erlestoke wasn’t certain where the fragment would be best hidden. If they could get as far south as Croquellyn, they could turn it over to the elves. Princess Alexia had done that with the Jeranese fragment when she’d stolen it from the Wruonin pirates. The elves of Loquellyn had set it away for safekeeping, but the prince wondered if that might not doom them in the long run.

  Erlestoke’s fears about a clear day meant they would leave a trail anyone could follow, but that eased as night fell. They ranged a bit to the east and in some hill country they found the shell of a crofter’s home. Raiders had tried to burn it, but the fire had failed to consume the whole thing. Part of the roof remained, and all four log walls stood, though they were charred on the inside.

  The nice thing about the cabin was that the walls did offer some protection against the Aurolani troops in the area, or so Nygal had said. Verum countered that they’d not mean anything if a dragon decided to finish the job. That sobered everyone up for a bit, then Erlestoke told them they could build a fire in the hearth if Verum said the structure was still sound.

  The idea of being able to have heat brightened the prospects for the night. Verum assigned different jobs to everyone but the elves and Jullagh-tse since they’d have to take the night watches. Their ability to see in the darkness would make them perfect lookouts, and none of the men or meckanshii complained about the division of labor.

  Erlestoke summoned three of the nonhumans over. “We are agreed that we strike south for Sarengul. Jullagh-tse, you’re certain they’ll take us in?”

  She nodded, her grey eyes a stark contrast to both her rich red flesh and the dark of the heavy black wool cloak swathing her. “The urZrethi do not turn away visitors. I’ve been to Sarengul before—it is not that far from Bokagul, after all—and I even have distant cousins there. They may not welcome our having a DragonCrown fragment, but they won’t search us or demand to know what we are carrying.”

  Jilandessa toyed with her long black braid. “Is deception a good idea?”

  The urZrethi shrugged. “You would rather burden them with information they might not want? Yes, our entry will bring the war down on them, but they have no desire for Chytrine to reconstruct the Crown. Remember, urZrethi raise mountains and the dragons chase us from them. Our homes are unassailable otherwise. Let her bring her gibberers against us. Without dragons, they cannot hope to open our mountains.”

  Ryswin snorted. “Let us hope neither Turic or Runyk deigns to make a lesson of such confidence.”

  Jullagh-tse shook her head. “The will of the gods be what it may, destroying the urZrethi in their home is very difficult.”

  Erlestoke raised a mittened hand. “If we assume all that is true, the next question is where do we go from there? Princess Alexia left a fragment in Loquellyn.”

  Ryswin wrinkled his nose. “She would not have been allowed to leave Rellaence with it in her possession. It was deemed unwise for her to bring it to Fortress Draconis. That would have put too much at jeopardy, and granted too much to Chytrine if she succeeded.”

  “That would have given her five fragments. She has the one from Svarskya, and one of the three from Fortress Draconis. We have one, the Jeranese fragment is in Loquellyn, and one more is gods-alone know where.” The prince frowned. “How many fragments are there?”

  Ryswin smiled. “You were the Draconis Baron’s aide. Did he not tell you?”

  Jilandessa snapped something at the Loquelf in Elvish. The warrior’s eyes widened, then he blushed and nodded. When the color in his face returned to normal, he looked Erlestoke squarely in the eye. “You will please forgive me. Jilandessa has reminded me that you do have a right to information that has long been hidden from you. To the best of anyone’s knowledge, there are seven fragments.”

  “Seven?” Erlestoke frowned. “I know of the five that men were given, and I have heard there was a fragment on Vorquellyn.”

  The Harquelf healer nodded. “That fragment was evacuated from the island, but vanished. Some say the Loquelves took it from the refugees.”

  “We did not.” Ryswin lifted his chin. “I fought against Kree’chuc. I did not see the fragment, but had you been in Loquellyn at the time, you know our possession of it would have been lauded
as a victory.”

  “That accounts for six.” Erlestoke looked at his three companions. “What of the seventh?”

  Ryswin opened his hands. “Though it was well before my time, the tale has it that a small group of adventurers were the ones who actually slew Kirûn. When they found the Crown it formed an open arc, not unlike some coronets. They’d not seen it before, and it was not until much later that stories arose that told of a seventh piece—the centerpiece. While each fragment is very powerful, as we have all seen, with the seventh, vast armies of dragons can be controlled. Its use is supposed to be exhausting, but when one can wipe out an enemy, the chance to rest comes easily.”

  The prince frowned. “So you are telling me that there were seven pieces, but only six were found and they were split up without anyone knowing that the central piece was missing?”

  “It is true, Highness.” Jullagh-tse Seegg nodded solemnly. “I am far younger than Ryswin here, but I have heard the same tales told in Bokagul. It was an urZrethi goldsmith who journeyed far and wide. She measured all the fragments and created an imitation of it, down to the finest detail. It was clearly incomplete, so she then worked out what the other piece might have looked like. The simple fact of the matter, however, is that we do not know where that other piece is. It is conceivable that Chytrine has it, and that she even stole it from the Crown.”

  Erlestoke sagged back against the log wall and winced. His chest hurt, and not just from the punch. “If all three of you know this information, why don’t I? Why didn’t the Draconis Baron?”

  Jilandessa crouched beside him and rested her hands on one of his drawn-up knees. “It is because of the nature of men, Highness. Think of Fortress Draconis not as a place to stop Chytrine, but as a locus for power. All the nations of mankind, all nations of elves and urZrethi, pledged troops to and served at Fortress Draconis. But it was a man who created the plans, and men were forever the Draconis Barons. Men have a passion for power.

  “When it was learned that there might be a seventh piece of the crown—one that would make it work—the elves and urZrethi were put in a curious position. All fragments save for one resided in human hands. It was thought possible that men might believe that we had lied about the number of fragments, and that we held one back because we did not trust humanity. That belief would quickly become malignant. Men would come to believe we held it back so we could gather all the other fragments and re-create the DragonCrown to summon dragons to destroy mankind.”

  Erlestoke shook his head. “That makes no sense.”

  The raven-haired elf smiled. “Highness, you have labored for the last five years at Fortress Draconis. You have worked with elves and urZrethi. You know us. You trust us. Ryswin is newly come to Fortress Draconis, yet you treat him as you do me because you have learned to trust elves.”

  Jullagh-tse nodded as well. “And, were the truth to be told, the idea of putting the Crown together again has been advanced. I’ve heard it mentioned in the halls of Bokagul. I imagine the same has been said in groves throughout elven holdings. Humanity encroaches on us. No one calls for mankind’s destruction, but being able to drive men back . . .”

  Erlestoke nodded. “I know the history. I know the men of Oriosa and the urZrethi of Bokagul have fought wars before, but we have fought side by side more recently. Still, your point is made. Those old wars still haunt the memory. Attributing evil to you would not be difficult.”

  Jilandessa sighed. “It is fairly safe to assume Chytrine does not have the seventh fragment. If she did, she would be much more powerful.”

  “Why can’t she just make a new central segment?”

  The urZrethi frowned. “The stones in the Crown are very rare. Some tales refer to them as Truestones, but I have no idea what is meant by that.”

  The elves shook their heads. “If their nature is known to my people,” Ryswin said solemnly, “it has not been shared with me. However, if she had the skills to create a central portion of the Crown, she could make herself a new one. Something has prevented that from happening.”

  “Thank the gods for small favors.” The prince leaned his head back against the wall. “We’re still stuck with the same problem, when it comes down to it. Where do we go? If the elves are willing to hold another fragment, Harquellyn or Croquellyn are both likely places.”

  Jilandessa pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Harquellyn should be a second choice. I am different from my people, for we prefer to remain far from conflict. We would be welcomed, but in exchange for a pact of peace, they might give the fragment up.”

  “Ryswin, why did your people keep a fragment? Isn’t that risking a lot given Chytrine’s lust for the things?”

  The warrior smiled. “My friend, it was the Loquelven ships that destroyed Kree’chuc’s fleet and ruined his invasion. Chytrine hates us regardless of what we possess. We just could not have allowed that fragment to get into her hands.”

  “Croquellyn, then?”

  The urZrethi nodded thoughtfully. “If we get that far south, we will be close to Tsagul. Depending upon where Chytrine is, we might even have to go further south.”

  The prince frowned. “There’s not much more south there.”

  “No, Highness, there isn’t.” Jullagh-tse Seegg sighed heavily. “Somehow we shall have to hope it is enough.”

  CHAPTER 39

  G eneral Markus Adrogans nodded as he studied the model of the Three Brothers Citadel that warded the road through the South Gorge. “You’ve done a brilliant job, Duke Mikhail.”

  The dark-haired young man smiled, then bowed his head in thanks. “I like making models. It is to scale, of course, though the snow is just white paint and not mounded to the depth our scouts have reported.”

  The model represented a stretch of the road paralleling the Svar River as it passed through the South Gorge. On its approach to Svarskya, the river made an oxbow to the west and the road ran along the eastern shore. At the apex of the curve sat the centermost and largest of the fortresses, built up like a cake with one squat cylindrical layer upon another, decreasing in diameter as they rose four high. A round wall surrounded it. Opposite, in the center of the river, stood a huge tower, with an arched stone bridge connecting the tower and the fortress. From the tower, and between the tower and fortress, thick chains ran shore to shore to prevent boat traffic—something effective in the summer, but useless in the dead of winter since the river was thoroughly iced over and buried under snow.

  To the south—the direction from which they would approach—lay the first of the two gateway fortresses. Each consisted of two rectangular structures paralleling the road for twenty yards or so, with crenellated walls all around, and plenty of arrow slits in the interior walls. Gates front and rear blocked the road, and any force that was successful in breaching the forward gate would be trapped in the fortress interior before they could get the rear gate open. Getting to the gate-opening mechanisms would require a lot of fighting and murderous close-range shots by archers hidden behind stout walls.

  The smaller fortresses also had their river towers with arched bridges and shore to shore chains. Any attempt to cross the frozen river would be doomed since archers in the towers or on the bridges would have the advantage. Moreover, siege engines from within the fortresses would be able to hurl stones that would shatter the ice. The frigid water would kill soldiers faster than arrows, and the frozen bodies would be washed into the Crescent Sea at Svarskya.

  Neither the gate-keeping fortresses nor their river towers had a line of sight between them, so they relied on the larger fortress to relay messages via a system of flags. The central fortress served as the garrison for the whole complex, with only a quarter of a mile separating one fortress from the other. It would send out troops to defend either gateway fortress, and the garrison in the farthest fortress could be summoned to help if needed.

  “It is stunning work, but it does not give me heart.” Adrogans slowly paced around the model, viewing it from every angle. Reaching out, h
e lifted the top layer from the central fortress. The interior walls had been painted in, and a black circle drawn to represent the central stairway. The details even extended down to indicating the privies with black dots, and notations about how many soldiers usually occupied each room.

  “I wished to be able to complete the interior structure, General. Two of the Svoin refugees had served in Varalorsk, so were able to give me the details. They were helpful with the little brothers, Darovin and Krakoin.” Mikhail shrugged. “After the battle, I shall fix things.”

  Adrogans smiled at him. “You are rather unlike your cousin. I could not imagine her doing something like this.”

  “Alexia?” The man laughed. “She is quite serious, and has no simple pursuits such as making models. This is fine, however, since she is the future of our nation. Not to take anything from you, General, for your efforts in ridding Okrannel of the Aurolani shall never be forgotten.”

  “Nor yours in riding with the Kingsmen.” The Jeranese general’s eyes narrowed a bit. “I think, however, you would be more at peace were you able to make models instead of war.”

  The duke shook his head. “While my nation is captive, I cannot know peace.” He took a deep breath and lowered his voice. “General, you know what it is for one of us to make a dream raid, yes?”

  Adrogans nodded, not betraying the fact that he found the whole idea foolish. “I have heard rumors of the procedure.”

  Mikhail half grinned. “Aunt Tatyana would have me flayed alive for telling you this, but it is something you should know. When I made my dream raid, I was with Alexia. Her dream, well, I will not betray a confidence, for she should not have told it even to me, but it bodes very well for the battle against Chytrine. But mine, General, it is very specific, and I must share it with you.”

  The duke waved his left hand at the model. “I dreamed of the Three Brothers, as you see them now. Thick snow, frozen river, a day so cold that if you spat it would freeze before it hit the ground. We were victorious that day. All three brothers in our hands.”