A painful shriek escape the creature’s mouth as it flinched backward. The move exposed the mother’s chest to Simeon’s next strike—a thrust right into the dragon’s heart. With a massive effort, his father plunged the blade deep until the dragon breathed its last breath and fell backward.
“Quick! We must tend to the wounded,” Simeon said. He ran to two men laying sprawled inside a den. One of the men Lucius recognized as Bashir, an older man with a long face and prominent cheekbones. Blood stained the man’s side, likely from a cut inflicted by the dragon’s talons. He helped Bashir to his feet while Siegfried tended to the other man whose name escaped him.
“Did we kill them all, Al-Abya?” Bashir asked in a hoarse whisper.
“I’m not sure, old friend. But do not speak. You must save your strength for Kalila and your daughters,” Simeon replied.
Lucius placed Bashir’s arm around his neck and held onto the man’s torso for support. The older man groaned painfully as he led him out of the den. A thunderous crack suddenly threw them off balance and Lucius turned toward the terrifying sound. A few feet from them another pair of dragon mothers had landed on the stone walkway. Above them, more dragons screamed furiously from their dens. Lucius felt his heart sank as he saw another dozen hatchlings emerge from the dens.
“There’s more of them. More mothers and hatchlings,” he said bitterly.
“Are we all that’s left of the Ospreys?” Siegfried asked, looking around.
“I’m afraid so, master elf,” Simeon said. He then turned to the four of them. “We must get out of here now. There’s no chance for us in this fight.”
Lucius wanted to argue the point, but he knew it was useless. His father was right. They had no hope of defeating one dragon much less a dozen more.
“We can make it to the exit if we run. Go!” Simeon cried.
Siegfried led the way down the stone stairs alongside the injured Uwadi warrior he’d helped earlier. Lucius followed them, albeit at a much slower pace due to Bashir’s crippling wound. Simeon spurred them onward from behind, on guard for any attack. A burst of flames lit up the stairs behind them as a trio of hatchlings swooped down at them. The beleaguered Ospreys avoided the fire and reached the ground unscathed for the moment.
From the corner of his eye, Lucius saw a hatchling dive at them. He released his grip on Bashir and pushed the man toward safety. With a quick flick of his wrist, he cut upward with the Requiem Sword and split the hatchling’s skull in two. The creature crashed onto the hard ground beside them. But another one came at them. The new hatchling avoided the mistake of the first and did not dive headlong at the group. It rose at the last moment then drove its talons at its target. The claws pierced the abdomen of the Uwadi soldier next to Siegfried. Before the elf could extract him from the dragon’s grip, the hatchling carried the wounded man up into the sky then let him drop from a deathly height.
“Keep going! We can’t do anything for him,” Simeon yelled.
More dragon mothers landed on the ground beside them, joining their devilish offspring in the fight. Lucius ran in a zigzag pattern to avoid the multiple streams of fire that erupted around them. He didn’t care to engage any of the dragons. His mind focused only on running and dodging the incessant assaults around him. The tunnel leading out of the chamber became closer with each perilous step he took. When they entered it, he felt a momentary sense of relief. But the murderous cries of the dragons pursuing them distressed him once more. They had gained some ground on the creatures, but he doubted whether they could escape Ghadarya with so many of the vile dragons at their backs.
Another hatchling caught up with them and flew at his father. The dragon bit Simeon’s arm and nearly knocked him to the ground. But the seasoned warrior retaliated with a quick thrust into the creature’s neck. He shook off the dead hatchling from his arm and examined the damage.
“Father! Are you all right?” Lucius said frantically.
“I’m fine. But we will never get out of here with these dragons in pursuit,” Simeon said. “Do you have any more fire strikers?”
Lucius quickly pulled out the remaining two strikers in his belt. “Just two. Hardly enough to kill them all.”
Simeon nodded. “Give them to me. Siegfried, do you have any left?”
Siegfried handed him two additional fire strikers. The elf had a forlorn look on his face as he did so. “This is all that’s left.”
“This’ll do. Siegfried, take Bashir and Lucius out of here,” Simeon ordered.
“What are you talking about? We’re all getting out of here right now, Father,” Lucius said.
Simeon smiled, but the expression was devoid of humor. “We can’t escape this, Lucius. The dragons will catch up with us, eventually. I can buy you all time to escape, but you must move now.”
“I’m not leaving without you!” Lucius cried. He felt his eyes sting and tears blurred his vision.
“It’s all right, Lucius,” Simeon said in a calm voice. “Yéwa answered the prayer of a hopeless man like me. To see my son alive before my death. I welcome the end gladly to save you and to see your mother again.”
“No! I forbid you to do this!” Lucius yelled.
“Goodbye, my son.” Simeon turned from them and ran back down the way they’d come.
“Father! No!”
“Lucius, come on!” Siegfried shouted, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him away.
He hesitated then finally turned to run out of the tunnel with Siegfried and Bashir. Behind him, he heard the faint voice of his father singing a familiar song.
...for the shield, the shield is gone
Oh whence cometh the dawn?
To defend ye brothers and sisters
Forevermore we travel to Caelum...
They ran outside, welcomed by the bright light of the sun on the gravel path. A sudden cacophony of explosions rocked the ground. Lucius watched as the entrance to the cave collapsed on itself, leaving a thick cloud of dust in the air. When it settled, he could no longer hear his father’s singing or the terrible cries of dragons pursuing them; only silence and the sound of his own sobbing as he fell to his knees.
Chapter 19
The constant drip of water from an unknown source inside the dungeon had grated on Ravenmane’s nerves for hours. She tried unsuccessfully to track where the noise was coming from for most of the night until she decided her time would be better spent ignoring it altogether. The occasional moaning and cries from other prisoners in the dungeon had become muffled background noise to her in the last few days. Perhaps she’d also become accustomed to the dripping. At any rate, she had little choice in the matter. She stood up from the pathetic pile of hay that served as her bed and paced the cell for perhaps the hundredth time this morning. No one had spoken to her since Silas ordered her out of the palace throne room and she was led into this filthy, rat-infested dungeon. An execution for her high crimes against Aldron was surely underway, she thought. But after so many days without word of it, she wondered if Silas could not stomach the deed and chose instead to let her rot in here.
Ravenmane leaned her back against the stone wall and looked up at the numerous cobwebs adorning the low ceiling. This was the longest amount of time she’d stayed willingly inside a jail. Her skills had allowed her to overcome guards and pick locks to escape predicaments like this. She memorized when the guards in the dungeon changed their shifts and the times when they served her food. One of the less experienced guards often got too close to the bars when he dropped off her meal of disgusting slop. All she needed to do was grab the dagger at his belt through the bars and force him to unlock the door. It would be quite simple. And yet, she had no desire to go with through with such a plan. The knowledge of her heritage had dulled the cold, callous instincts Memnon had drilled into her from youth. She had found her conscience—that small voice she had silenced long ago when she began her dark journey with the Draknoir. Now the voice wouldn’t shut up and the more she listened to it, the less inclin
ed she was to ignoring it.
Interestingly, the hours of pacing her cell with nothing to do brought back a flood of memories from her youth. She wasn’t sure if her conscious decision to rebel against Memnon had somehow broken his spell or if she’d repressed the memories all these years. Whatever the case, she could now recall her earliest memories in Gilead Palace. As a little girl she ran through the lengthy halls chasing her older brother and occasionally getting into trouble with some of the nobles. One of her favorite pastimes was hopping along the crenellations of the castle wall, much to her parents’ terror. Despite their vigilance in keeping her away from such a perilous pursuit, she always slipped past the guards and climb onto the wall. Silas would try to join her, but he lacked the balance and skill to match her pace. Beyond that, she remembered her older brother had a terrible fear of heights. Like his parents, he’d try to persuade her off the battlements as she tiptoed on each one with her hands outstretched for balance.
“Don’t be such a worrywart, Silas!” She’d say to him. “It’s not difficult, come on and join me.”
Silas’ face paled at the suggestion, but to her surprise, he reluctantly joined her. He stepped gingerly on each crenellation, minding the gap between them while averting his eyes from the dizzying drop. Every so often, she’d turn to check on him and giggle as he failed to match her speed along the wall. But then she heard a gasp from her brother that caused her to whirl around quickly. He’d missed his footing on the stone and slipped. By the grace of Yéwa, he reached out and caught the battlement before plummeting to certain death. She remembered how he hung helplessly from the parapet with his hands as his feet kicked desperately to find a footing on the stone wall.
“Becca! Help!” He cried.
For a moment, she stood paralyzed by the sight. Her brother had always been the strong and fearless one. Witnessing him in such a vulnerable position without their parents nearby to aid him sucked any courage she had while teetering along the wall. But somehow she dug deep and found the strength to act. She raced to her brother and hoisted him up from the edge of the wall. With a giant effort, she pulled him up, and they both fell onto the walkway. Their breathing came in ragged gasps, both still processing the terror they’d just endured. Then Silas turned to her, the color coming back to his face.
“Let’s not tell mother or father about this,” he said.
She nodded several times. “Wouldn’t dream of it. I promise never to come up here again, Silas.”
“I’ll hold you to it, little sister,” he said, forcing a smile.
She smiled in return and they laughed, the harrowing ordeal now past them.
Back in her cell, she smiled to herself at the memory. She wondered if her brother ever got over his fear. Surely as the leader of the Drachengarde and ruler of a vast kingdom, he’d outgrown such childhood fears. She would never know. Her brother had little reason to speak to her about such personal things or anything at all.
The sound of locks opening from the outer door of the dungeon suddenly caught her attention. It was quite early in the morning and most of the prisoners were still asleep. Breakfast, if it could be called that, wouldn’t be served for another two hours by her estimation. She learned to keep track of time by the shift change between the guards. Before breakfast there was always a change and the new inexperienced guard would serve food to the prisoners. Naturally, a deviation from this schedule made her quite curious.
Walking up to the bars of her cell, she strained to see who entered the dungeon, but it was quite impossible given the position of her cell. The door was several cells down to her left and she couldn’t see much aside from what was directly in front of her. At the moment that was an empty cell. She almost wished somebody occupied it so she could interact with a fellow inmate or look at something besides the three walls and bars of her cell. Though even if a prisoner occupied the cell across from her, there would likely be little communication. The guards were adamantly against the prisoners speaking to each other and often poked their quarter staffs through the bars to discourage it.
Two sets of footsteps approached her cell. The footfalls of the first person were quick and flustered—someone in a hurry to follow an order, likely a guard. While the second set were more measured and slow. This was the stride of someone taking their time and probably meant he or she was in a higher position than the quicker person. In a few seconds, the young guard she’d taken note of before appeared before her cell. He held a tray of food, but she quickly noticed it wasn’t the usual mush she’d force herself to eat. There was a plate of roasted pork, seasoned leeks, and mashed potatoes with a thick, brown gravy. Her mouth watered at the sight of the meal which caused her stomach to growl hungrily.
The young guard fumbled at something in his belt and she heard the jangle of keys as he inserted one into the lock. At first, she wasn't sure what to make of this. Whenever she’d been served a meal, the guards slipped it between the gaps in the bars and dropped it unceremoniously on the dirty floor. Never had they bothered to open the cell for reasons obvious to anyone. The door swung open, and she looked at the guard curiously. The young man had a flock of shaggy brown hair and reddish cheeks. Despite his youth, he had a well-built physique and towered over her. His physical prowess was likely the reason for his appointment as a guard. He could easily overpower a prisoner seeking to escape though she’d had enough experience in the matter to know that physical strength amounted to little in combat. The guard took a deep breath and entered the cell, but halted when another voice spoke.
“I’ll do it, Oliver. Go back to your post and I’ll trouble you no further,” a male voice said.
“My lord, are you... are you sure? Lieutenant Ambrose would have my head if he knew I’d left you alone... with her,” Oliver said.
“It’s quite all right, Oliver. I’ll speak with Ambrose, don’t you worry.”
The man approached the cell door and finally revealed himself. It was Silas.
He took the tray from Oliver and waved him away. The guard exchanged glances with the king and Ravenmane then shrugged and walked away. Silas entered the cell and stared at her for a moment.
“I know they don’t feed you well down here, so I thought you’d like something to eat. Here,” he said, handing her the tray.
Ravenmane snatched the tray from his hand and stuffed the bits of pork and potatoes into her mouth. She sat down with the tray, huddled over it like a ravenous dog devouring scraps. After a while she realized Silas was looking at her and she suddenly felt shame at her lack of propriety in his presence. But then her stomach rumbled again, and she took another generous helping of the leeks and gravy. The food tasted heavenly compared to the pig swill the guards fed her. Then she stopped eating as something terrible dawned on her. She looked up at Silas, who met her gaze.
“It’s poisoned isn’t it? This is how you'll have your vengeance against me,” she said sadly. The idea seemed fitting considering that she and Brandewulf had poisoned Alfryd. It was the kind of poetic demise she deserved. Part of her almost felt glad that Silas had thought of it.
“What?” Silas said, his eyebrows furrowed. “No! It’s perfectly fine. I’m not going to poison you, Becca.”
She winced at the mention of her former nickname. He still addressed her like a sister, but she felt far from that. The guilt of killing their father still weighed heavily upon her and she entertained no hope that Silas would ever let such a crime pass.
“What will you do then? Hang me from the gallows? How are you to avenge our father’s death, Silas?” She said, tears forming at the corners of her eyes.
Silas sighed deeply. “I didn’t want to come here, you know. If you were anyone else, I would’ve hung you from a noose and let you rot in the city square!” His voice echoed through the walls and some of the sleeping prisoners stirred. “But you’re not just anyone. You’re my sister—my own flesh and blood. And I’ve had to reconcile that reality with the crime you’ve committed against our family.”
Ravenmane said nothing. An awkward silence passed between them. The food in front of her no longer held allure, and she found that she’d lost her appetite. She took a deep breath then spoke. “Then what is to become of me?” She asked.
“I’ve given this a great deal of thought, Becca. You may thank my wife for the next words I’m about to say—”
“You’re married?” She interrupted.
Silas frowned. “Yes—newly married, actually. Just last night as a matter of fact,” he said awkwardly. “But that’s beside the point.”
“I’m sorry. Go on.”
“As of today, you are no longer a prisoner of Aldron. By the authority vested in me, I grant you a full pardon of your crimes and misdeeds. The full weight of your transgression against Aldron is transferred to Memnon, who used his witchcraft to... turn you against me.”
Ravenmane’s eyes widened. She couldn’t believe his words. But she felt no relief from this unexpected turn. She still sensed her brother was suspicious of her and she couldn’t blame him. “So that’s it? You’ll just set me free?”
“Not entirely,” he replied. “A large contingent of my army is going to war today and you are coming with us. You know more about the Draknoir than anyone in Aldron and loathe as I am to admit it, I need your help, Becca.”
"No, you don’t, Silas," she said. The response elicited a surprised look from him. "You’ve always been the stronger one of us. Against all odds you’ve fought hard against Memnon and gained much ground against the Draknoir when many believed you wouldn’t. His plan to... kill Father was a desperate one, and it didn’t work. Here you are, King of Aldron, ready to spit in the eye of any Draknoir or dragon that stands in your path. You don’t need a wretch like me getting in the way. I’ve done enough damage to you. Let me die in this cell. We both know it’s what I deserve."
Keep of Dragons (The Azuleah Trilogy Book 3) Page 24
