The three ruffians were armed with rudimentary weapons: a woodsman’s axe, a stout club of Iron Oak, and a knife. They spread out to surround them. Drogan simply waited, watching them casually, as if they posed no real threat. The man with the axe brought it over his head in an attempt to split Drogan’s skull. He simply stepped aside at just the right moment. As the thug lunged forward, pulled by the momentum of his swing, Drogan grabbed him by the chin with one large hand and the back of the head with the other, a quick snapping twist and the man crumpled to the ground.
The other two were shocked by how quickly their companion had died. They hesitated. But Drogan didn’t. He closed quickly on the man with the knife, grabbed his hand, crushing his fingers around the hilt, driving the blade up into his throat. The third thug turned and ran. Drogan casually picked up the fallen man’s axe, eyed the fleeing man for a moment, then brought the axe over his head and hurled it, end over end, into the man’s back. He died slowly, blood sputtering and frothing from his mouth. As he twitched in pain, Drogan searched him for anything of use and then left him lying in the road without the mercy of a quick death.
Lacy could still see the panic in his dying eyes. She hated that she was grateful for their deaths, but she knew what they would have done to her if they’d caught her alone. For now she needed Drogan and they both knew it.
***
She woke with a start. Drogan had a hand over her mouth but released it when she nodded. It was nearly dark, the sun having only just set. They’d spent the day under the pine tree waiting for the safety of night. Drogan said the dragons could see well in daylight but were just as limited as people at night. She hoped he was right.
He motioned in the gloom. She caught her breath when she heard a twig snap. The enemy was close. Carefully, quietly, she looked through the tree branches and counted six big brutish men spread out and moving slowly. They were searching for her.
“Their trail came this way, I’m sure of it,” one of them said.
Another of the men looked up at the rapidly darkening sky and shook his head. “It’s too dark to track them now. We’ll make camp in this clearing and pick up their scent at first light.”
Lacy schooled her breathing as she watched the men begin to make camp not thirty feet from her hiding place. Darkness fell as they built a fire. She held perfectly still, breathing slowly and evenly. The men cooked a meal of horse meat and washed it down with a jug of wine. After a painstaking couple of hours spent holding still while listening to the men joke and laugh about their very graphic plans for her when they caught her, she watched them finally lie down to sleep.
One man stayed awake, sitting by the fire, poking at the embers with a stick. When the rest were snoring, Drogan started to move. In the flickering firelight filtering through the branches, he took off his hat and long coat, then slipped a knife free of its sheath.
With deliberate slowness, he crept out from under the pine boughs and worked his way through the darkness. Lacy watched and waited. She knew what was about to happen—she knew it would be terrible and bloody, and she hated herself for wishing these men dead, but she also knew what would happen to her if they caught her.
Drogan was invisible in the dark, silent as a tomb. Lacy almost started to think he had simply crept out of the camp and left her to fend for herself when she caught a glimpse of his shadowy form behind the soldier sitting by the fire. Lacy’s heart beat so hard she could feel it in her temples. When she caught herself holding her breath, she let it out slowly and silently.
Drogan inched closer to the soldier. Finally reaching striking distance, he lunged forward, driving the knife into the man’s lower back just to the right of the spine, at the same time clapping his left hand over the man’s mouth. The surprised soldier stiffened but didn’t utter a sound as Drogan brought the blade up and cut his throat, spilling bright red blood down his tunic.
He carefully laid the man over, then froze still as a stone. No one stirred. He selected his next target, the nearest man. He didn’t rush. Picking each step and testing his footing before committing weight to it, he glided in slow motion through the flickering light.
Lacy watched with a mixture of relief and dread as he slipped his blade under the man’s ribs and up into his chest, slicing from side to side. The dying man’s eyes opened in shock but he didn’t offer any resistance, didn’t utter so much as a whimper.
The third and fourth men died just as quietly. It had taken Drogan nearly half an hour to kill them as he traded speed for stealth. He reached the fifth man and positioned himself for the kill strike when the man rolled over and woke up. Drogan stabbed at him, but the soldier whipped his blanket up toward Drogan’s hand, entangling the knife in the fabric as he shouted a warning. Drogan lunged forward, blindly stabbing through the blanket and hitting the soldier in the thigh. The man screamed in pain.
His lone remaining companion scrambled free of his bedding and looped a length of rope around Drogan’s neck, hauling him back and away from the injured man. Drogan fought and flailed but he could neither reach the soldier with his blade nor free himself from the rope looped around his neck.
Before Lacy could think it through, before she could second-guess herself, she was moving out from under the pine boughs, in spite of the burning pain in her legs from holding still for so long, into the light of the fire, knife in hand. She darted across the camp, driving her blade into the middle of the soldier’s back just to the left of the spine. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, she vaguely remembered learning where to strike a man in the back to kill him quickly.
Drogan tore the loop of rope free, gasping for breath, and then choking, he fell forward onto all fours. The wounded man drew a sword and swung it wildly at him but Drogan was just out of reach. As the wounded man started to crawl forward to get close enough for a clean strike, Lacy grabbed Drogan and pulled him out of range.
He saw the danger and rolled backward from all fours to a sitting position where he could see the single remaining enemy soldier. He took a moment to collect himself, deliberately drawing each breath, wheezing past the injuries in his throat.
Lacy watched and waited. The soldier made another feeble effort to lash out at Drogan but he was still out of range. Doggedly, Lacy’s protector got to his feet and scanned the campsite until he found what he wanted. Without haste, he retrieved a flask of oil, smelled it to confirm the contents, then poured it into the empty cook pot.
The soldier looked on with growing fear as he held his sword point between himself and his quarry-turned-predator. Drogan unceremoniously splashed the wounded man with a quart of lamp oil, picked up a flaming log and tossed it at him, igniting the oil with a whoosh.
The man screamed, then screamed again. Drogan ignored him as he began going through the other soldiers’ belongings for anything of use.
Lacy watched the dying soldier burn. She was oddly fascinated by the spectacle. She had vowed to herself that she would learn about war and killing so that she could protect her people.
This was killing. And it was ugly. It was horrible.
And yet, it was necessary.
Even with all that she had heard from these very men about how they intended to rape her, viciously and brutally, she wouldn’t have wished such a death on them, and yet, now that they were dead or dying, she was greatly relieved. She wondered if that made her a bad person.
Drogan snapped her out of her introspection with a hand on her shoulder. He didn’t speak but instead motioned for them to go. She nodded tightly, and realizing that she still held her blood-soaked knife, wiped it off on the nearest dead soldier before they set out.
They moved slowly through the night. Lacy came to see the darkness as a friend, as an ally that shielded her from her hunters. Just weeks ago, she’d been afraid of the dark, but now daylight was her enemy. In the light of day, the dragons could see her from the sky. Whatever fear she had of the creatures that roamed the night paled in comparison to the visceral fear evoked by a d
ragon passing overhead.
By day, she and Drogan hid. By night, they walked south toward the coast and a ship that would take her to Ithilian and safety. For nearly a week they traveled this way, avoiding villages and roads as much as possible. Only when they ran out of supplies did Drogan agree to stop at a village.
They came across a road heading southwest, probably the road to Suva. Drogan insisted that they stay well off the road and travel parallel to it until they came to a village. Near dawn, they arrived at a little hamlet, more of a roadside rest stop than a village; it consisted of an inn, a general store, a stable, a blacksmith’s shop, and a constable’s office surrounded by a small number of houses. The forest was gradually giving way to farmland as they moved south, farther from the mountains and closer to the ocean. Plots of workable land were separated by copses of trees scattered haphazardly around the little town.
“Can we stay here for the day?” Lacy asked. “A warm meal and a decent sleep would do us both good … not to mention a bath.” She wrinkled her nose.
Drogan looked at the town for a moment before nodding. “We’ll stay until dusk and then be on our way,” he said. “Suva is less than a week’s walk. We can get passage on a ship there.”
As they approached the town, a bell tolled. A dozen men armed with spears or bows came forth to meet them before they reached the edge of the village. Drogan stopped slightly ahead of Lacy and waited, hands at his sides.
The townsfolk spread out, surrounding Lacy and Drogan while a man wearing a badge of office from the territory of Suva approached.
“I’m the constable here,” he said. “State your business.”
“We’re traveling south, hoping to get passage to Ithilian,” Drogan said. “Low on supplies so we thought we’d stop here and buy a few things.”
The constable nodded. “We’ve been getting a fair number of refugees fleeing the war up north. Have you seen any of Zuhl’s soldiers nearby?”
“There’s probably a hundred or so just north of here,” Drogan said, “but they’re pretty spread out, like they’re looking for something. Don’t know much more than that, since we’ve been trying to avoid them as best we can.”
“Understandable,” the constable said. “Well, you’re welcome to go on into town so long as you obey the law. There’s a caravan of refugees headed to Suva about midday, might consider joining up with them, strength in numbers and all. The roads aren’t safe anymore.”
“Thanks,” Drogan said, “we might just do that.”
They made their way into a town nervous with stories of horror to the north. People were suspicious of outsiders and it showed in their furtive glances and challenging glares. Drogan ignored them, Lacy tried to stay close to him.
They reached the inn only to find the door locked. Drogan knocked and waited patiently. Several moments later the peephole in the door opened.
“What do you want?” the man within said.
“A meal and a room,” Drogan replied.
The innkeeper’s eyes narrowed suspiciously until Drogan held up a gold sovereign. He nodded quickly, shut the peephole, and opened the door. As soon as they were inside he shut the door, threw the bolt, and dropped the bar.
“Can’t be too careful these days, what with the war to the north and all,” he said. “How long will you be staying?”
“Just for the day,” Drogan said. “Do you have a room with two beds?”
The innkeeper nodded expectantly.
Drogan held up the coin.
“The room for the day and two hot meals each plus some travel rations,” Drogan said.
“Agreed,” the innkeeper said, taking the coin. “Have you come from the north? I hear the Reishi army is fighting the barbarian horde. Hardly seems possible.”
“We’ve been working pretty hard to avoid being noticed,” Drogan said. “I’m afraid we don’t have much news to offer.”
“One of the refugees said they saw the Reishi army,” the innkeeper said. “He said it was a million men strong, soldiers from Ruatha and Ithilian all marching under the Reishi banner and taking the fight to Zuhl’s horde. What do you think it means? What are they fighting over? And why here?”
Drogan shrugged. “If I had to guess, I’d say Prince Phane is trying to defend the people of Fellenden against Zuhl’s aggression.”
“Oh, I hope you’re right,” the innkeeper said. “Someone has to help us or we’re all lost. I’ve heard such horrible stories about Zuhl’s barbarians. I just can’t believe they’re as vicious as people say.”
Lacy stayed stock-still and listened to every word of the exchange. In the back of her mind, she thought she should tell the man that Zuhl’s brutes were worse than any of the stories he’d heard, but she was too focused on listening to the conversation to say anything.
All her life she’d learned that the Reishi had waged war on the Seven Isles, a war that had destroyed her House. The line of Fellenden had never regained its former station, not that it had mattered much to her. And now the Reishi army was on Fellenden once again, this time fighting against Zuhl’s barbarian horde. She didn’t understand and yet she hoped beyond hope that the rumor was true. Someone had to stand against Zuhl. If the Reishi Prince, risen from the ashes of history, was the only one powerful enough, then so be it. Her people didn’t deserve what Zuhl was doing to them.
The innkeeper leaned in conspiratorially. “I also hear tell of dragons,” he whispered.
Drogan nodded somberly. “The way I understand it, Zuhl’s put a collar on a few dragons, turned them into pets, of a sort.” Drogan paused for effect. “We saw them a few days ago, been traveling at night ever since.”
The innkeeper blanched. “If that’s true, then the Reishi Prince really is our only hope. It’s said that he has powerful magic. Still, I don’t know how anyone could stand against a dragon, magic or not.”
“Having seen them with my own eyes, I’m inclined to agree with you,” Drogan said. “Even Prince Phane will need some help if Zuhl has dragons serving him.”
“This is all so much bigger than me,” the innkeeper said, shaking his head. “I wish we could go back to the way things were. Oh well, let me get your room key and some breakfast.”
The food was simple fare but it was hot and there was plenty. After the meal, Lacy felt better than she had in weeks, even though her mind was still reeling from the news that a friendly army was standing against Zuhl. She considered changing her plan and going back north to meet the army and offer what help she could, but then thought better of it. Her father had entrusted her with a mission that he believed was vitally important. She decided again that she would not fail him, no matter the cost.
The brief exchange with the innkeeper ignited a storm of new questions within her mind, questions that Drogan might be able to answer. Since they’d met, she had deliberately, or perhaps unconsciously, avoided asking him many questions. She told herself that it wasn’t important, that questioning him might lead him to abandon her when she needed him most, but the truth was, she was afraid of the answers.
As she lay down on one of the two little beds in their room, bone-weary from traveling, she realized her curiosity wasn’t going to let her sleep, so she steeled herself and plunged in.
“Drogan, are you awake?”
“I’m trying not to be,” he replied.
“Why are you helping me?”
He was quiet for a moment before he answered, “I was sent to help you.”
“By whom?”
“Prince Phane,” Drogan said, “though indirectly. I work for the Reishi Army Regency out of Karth. They sent me here to gather information about Zuhl’s invasion. Once I was here, I got an urgent order to look for you and help you reach safety.”
“Why?” Lacy asked. “Why would Prince Phane care about me?”
Drogan shrugged as if the reason didn’t really matter. “I suppose because you’re a princess of the House of Fellenden. Truth is, I didn’t ask.”
“All of the st
ories say Prince Phane is a monster,” Lacy said. “I don’t understand why he would want to help me.” She felt the inkling of suspicion start to build in the back of her mind. She hadn’t told Drogan about the little black box she was carrying. But Prince Phane was supposed to be a powerful wizard … he might have ways of knowing about it, he might even know what was inside it. After all, he was alive when the box was hidden away from the world in Carlyle Fellenden’s tomb.
“You’ve heard of the Rebel Wizard?” Drogan asked.
“Of course,” Lacy said. “He led the Seven Isles against the tyranny of Malachi Reishi.”
“Prince Phane was his inside man,” Drogan said. “Prince Phane gave him the secret of Wizard’s Dust. Prince Phane provided him with information about troop movements and battle plans. Without Prince Phane’s help, the Rebel Wizard wouldn’t have had a chance.”
“Why don’t the history books say that?”
“After the war was over, the Reishi Protectorate went underground,” Drogan said. “They kept fighting against the Rebel Mage and his allies for almost a century. They were the ones who hunted Phane until he decided it would be better to give up and flee into the future. With him gone, the Protectorate systematically destroyed all of the history books that told the truth and replaced them with the stories you’ve heard.
“They were waiting for him when he woke,” Drogan continued. “Nearly killed him, but he was too powerful for them. He managed to escape to the Reishi Army Regency, the last standing Reishi army in the world and the one place he knew he would find others loyal to the Old Law.”
“This is all so hard to believe,” Lacy said. “How can everything I’ve been taught my whole life be a lie?”
“For centuries, the Protectorate dedicated themselves to rewriting history,” Drogan said. “Think about it, all we know about those years is what was written down. If the history books are full of lies, then it only makes sense that we’d believe them, especially since we didn’t have anyone to tell us what really happened … until now, anyway. Prince Phane is going to change all that. He’ll tell people the truth once this blasted war is over. I only hope he has the strength to defeat Zuhl and his dragons.”
Blood of the Earth (Sovereign of the Seven Isles: Book Four) Page 37
