by James Wisher
Jen shook her head. He never failed to ask her out when they met, and no matter how many times she turned him down he kept trying, even in the middle of a war. She had to respect his persistence. “I’ll pass.”
He sighed, apparently having expected her reply. John left her alone with Damien. Jen glanced around and found a forgotten three-legged stool half hidden under a torn cot. Not ideal, but it was better than standing. She settled down beside her brother, took his hand, and closed her eyes to try to nap until he woke up.
Chapter 37
Damien hurt everywhere. From the tips of his toes to the top of his head he was one giant ache. Even his hair hurt. He and pain were old and bitter acquaintances, but for all the injuries he’d taken at The Citadel he’d never before hurt everywhere all at once. This was a new experience and he didn’t like it at all.
Around him groans of pain filled the air. It sounded like he wasn’t the only one that got hurt, though he was probably the only to sustain self-inflicted injuries. He opened his eyes and a white roof filled his vision.
The healers’ tent, of course. Somehow he always seemed to end up with the healers. He turned his attention inward and found his soul force regenerated, but his shield hadn’t recovered. He drew a little soul force and winced. How long would it hurt to use his power? He supposed it didn’t really matter. He focused through the pain and recreated his shield. When he finished drawing on his power the pain faded a little.
“Damien?”
He turned toward his sister’s voice and found her sitting beside his cot. “Did I get it?”
“You hit the dragon, but I didn’t see what happened to it. Don’t ever scare me like that again.”
Her eyes were red like she’d been crying. It was a rare thing, seeing his powerful, fierce sister with tears in her eyes. He hoped to never see it again, much less be the cause of it. “Sorry, sis. I couldn’t think what else to do.”
A cough sounded and Damien turned to see General Kord and the pale sorcerer that led the army’s sorcerers standing near the entry of the tent. Damien tried to sit up, but Jen put a hand on his chest, forcing him back into bed. “Sir?”
The pages entered a moment later carrying a pair of folding camp chairs. They set them up and the general and sorcerer sat beside his bed. “I was on the field when you blasted that dragon,” General Kord said. “You blew a hole big enough to drive a wagon through in its side and somehow our sorcerers say it escaped.”
“I tried to shape the blast so it wouldn’t hit our soldiers. Is everyone okay?”
“You didn’t catch a single one of my men in the blast, but you killed thousands of ogres and trolls. When the dragon fled the monsters lost their enthusiasm for the fight. We swept the field clear and according to my scouts they’re still running. I suspect the war’s over for this year, thanks to you. I dispatched a letter to His Majesty and the king insists on having a feast and award ceremony in your honor. You, Jen, and her squad are to head south as soon as you’re able to travel.” He shot a look at the sorcerer.
Her face twisted in a grimace. “Well done, young man. You blew away over half the dragon’s soul force with your attack. It’ll take centuries for it to recover. The Northlands owe you a great debt. You have my thanks and the thanks of my lord duke.”
Damien smiled. What sort of threats had General Kord made to get her to say that? Whatever he said, Damien appreciated it. “I’m just glad I made a difference.” He brought his fist to his heart. “For the person beside you.”
The general grinned and returned the salute. “For the person beside you. You’re welcome in my army any time, Damien. Your father would be proud.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The general nodded and he and the sorcerer left. When they’d gone Damien turned to his sister. “How long was I out?”
“Most of a day. John said you’d be fine, but I was starting to wonder.”
“I didn’t mean to worry you.” Damien grinned. “Did he ask you out?”
Jen sighed. “Of course. That boy won’t take no for an answer.”
Damien laughed even though it made his whole body hurt. “What do you expect, he’s in love.”
Chapter 38
Damien managed another day resting before he couldn’t stand it anymore. He still ached, but it was bearable and getting less painful all the time. In another week, hopefully, he’d be recovered. It still hurt to draw his soul force. John said it was because he’d used too much all at once, but he hadn’t done any permanent damage. Better yet, if Damien had to do it again it would hurt less since he’d done it once already.
Damien, Jen, and the rest of her squad rode for the better part of three weeks before the walls of the capital rose in the distance. Damien would have preferred a conjured mount, but John assured him riding a real horse would be better under the circumstances. So here he was, on a rolling, breathing, stinking mount ten miles from the capital. Snow blanketed everything; trees, fields, and fences were reduced to white blobs.
He hated winter. Anything might be hiding out under that white expanse. A clever, patient enemy could sneak within a few feet of his target before he struck. Of course, anyone stupid enough to sneak up on Damien and his companions would end up dead in very short order. At least the traffic to the city had tromped down the snow covering the road so the horses didn’t have to slog through knee-deep piles of the stuff.
“What are you thinking about?” Jen asked.
“Assassins.”
She frowned. “What about them?”
“I’d rather fight half a dozen than go to some stupid feast.”
She laughed. “It’ll be fine. Just smile and nod, shake some hands, and plead exhaustion. You could probably escape inside an hour.”
He grimaced. An hour? How would he manage an hour of smiling and listening to those idiots talk about the battles they watched like they had some part in the fighting? At least the food should be good. After a month plus on the road and eating in camp Damien wanted a hot, well-cooked meal in the worst way.
Not tiny sandwiches covered in cold cucumbers either, but meat and hot bread. And a mug of mulled cider, he’d sell his soul for a mug of hot cider.
“Looks like they sent out a welcoming committee.”
Jen’s words shook him out of his thoughts. A dozen horsemen cantered out from the main gate toward them. Damien squinted, but couldn’t tell who it was.
“It’s Dad.” Jen must have used her soul force to sharpen her sight.
Damien warped the air in front of his eyes to mimic the lenses of a spy glass. A little twinge of pain coursed through him, but nothing to bother about. Sure enough, through the magnification field, he saw his father riding at the head of ten horsemen dressed in blue-and-silver tabards, a gold crown embroidered on their chests. They carried lances with matching pennants flapping in the wind.
An escort of royal guardsmen, how nice. It looked like the king, or as he preferred Jen and Damien to call him in private, Uncle Andy, was going all out.
They reined in when the two groups were ten yards apart. Jen and her squad saluted his father, their fists touching their chests. Damien waved. He wasn’t a warlord and he didn’t answer to his father.
Dad returned the salute. “Congratulations on your successful mission.” He turned his intense gaze on Damien. “I understand you made a good showing for yourself, son. His Majesty wishes to extend his most sincere thanks for your efforts on his behalf. Well done.”
The pride in the old man’s voice surprised Damien. He’d never had much use for sorcerers and even less for Damien himself. He considered them cowards for the most part since they didn’t fight the enemy face to face. “Thank you, sir. It’ll be nice to see Uncle Andy, I mean the king, again.”
Dad winced at his slip. Damien had to remember not to act too familiar with Uncle Andy when other people were around. Sometimes he forgot the kind man that used to run around with Damien on his shoulders as a child was also his king. Of course Uncle A
ndy would have a fit if he acted too formal in private so he had to balance it, so complicated. Stupid court, with all their rules and propriety. It would be so much easier if everyone could just be friends instead of lords and vassals. The fact that a lot of them hated each other might have something to do with it.
The guardsmen formed up on either side of the group and they rode toward the gate. Dad eased his mare over beside Damien.
Taking on that dragon was very dangerous.
Damien smiled, but didn’t reply. It was good to hear Lizzy’s voice. He hoped they’d have time to catch up later. Dad hated it when he talked out loud to her when others were around, so he contented himself with sending her warm thoughts.
“General Kord said you saved the northern army all by yourself.” Dad sounded a little dubious and Damien didn’t blame him. All he’d ever seen was Damien the screw up.
“I did the best I could and things worked out. I was lucky Jen was there to catch me since I didn’t have a drop of power left after I blasted that dragon. I was hoping to kill it, but the spotters said it got away.”
“An impressive feat just the same.” Dad patted him on the back.
Damien smiled at the awkward attempt at affection. Of all Dad’s myriad of talents, showing affection to his son was not among them. It was nice that he’d made the effort though. Maybe they’d manage to be civil for however long they were in the capital. “Thanks, Dad. Did any of the monsters get through?”
“Reports say a few groups snuck past our line. I’ve got squads out hunting them down. You’ve done your part. Let others handle this.”
“Yes, sir.” That was one order he’d be happy to follow.
Chapter 39
The city gates consisted of foot-thick oak timbers held together with iron bands. The walls loomed fifty feet above them. Twenty feet thick and constructed of granite blocks fused together with soul force, the wall was almost a solid piece of rock. Beyond the gate the citizens had shoveled the cobblestone streets clear of snow, making traveling easy.
Hundreds of people walked in both directions up and down King’s Way, the central road from the gate to the castle, on their way to one of the many shops and taverns lining the street. Noon fast approached, so this was probably the lunch rush. Many people waved at the stoic guardsmen, hoping for a reaction.
Damien remembered doing the same thing when he was little and visiting the capital with Dad and Jen the first time. They never flinched despite his youthful efforts.
He sighed. It had been too long since they visited the castle together. Did the cook still make the honey butter biscuits he and Jen used to steal as kids? He hoped so and if she did he planned to steal some more.
“You look nostalgic.”
He glanced at his sister who wore a smile that no doubt matched his. “How long has it been, six years?”
“About that. Do you think Princess Karrie will be happy to see you?”
Damien’s smile soured. Princess Karrie was Uncle Andy’s daughter, heir to the throne, and a year younger than Damien. On his last visit she’d developed a crush on him and followed him and John everywhere. She even proclaimed to anyone that would listen that she intended to marry him. He’d had no use for girls at the time and now he only had eyes for Lizzy. He really hoped she’d grown out of it. “Not too happy I hope.”
Jen laughed. She’d always gotten a kick out of the little princess chasing him around. Funny, she didn’t seem to find John chasing her around nearly so amusing. Not wanting to ruin the warm fuzzy feeling he was enjoying Damien kept that observation to himself.
Fifteen minutes brought them to the inner gates. A second, thirty-foot wall surrounded the residential district and served as a second line of defense if the outer wall should fall. As far as Damien knew that had never happened.
King’s Way continued on through the neat rows of cedar-shingled multifamily houses. The further they went the nicer the buildings. In the distance the imposing gray stone castle loomed. A third wall, this one twenty feet tall, surrounded the castle just inside the dry moat. A single drawbridge allowed access to the castle.
With their escort of royal guards no one challenged them as they rode across the heavy planks of the drawbridge. Damien glanced up at the spiked bottom of the raised portcullis. How big a force would it take to penetrate this far into the city?
A bigger danger would be sorcerers flying in over the walls. Of course anyone attempting to fly into the castle would have to deal with the archmage and her Crimson Legion.
Inside the wall was an empty courtyard. Long, low barracks sat along the walls and housed the royal guards. Now that they were inside their escorts peeled off and rode towards the barracks. Perhaps they’d get the rest of the day off.
Four boys rushed out of the keep to collect their horses. When they’d dismounted and the stable boys had led the animals away Damien asked, “What now?”
In answer to his question an old man with a knobby staff wearing long blue robes hobbled out of the keep. A wispy white beard grew from his chin and he wore a golden key around his neck.
Damien grinned. Dale Alan, the castle seneschal, looked exactly as he remembered from all those years ago.
“Dale!” Damien waved.
The old man smiled. “Master Damien, it’s been far too long. And Jennifer as well. Wonderful to see you both. The king is expecting you.”
Dale led them into the keep, his staff tapping along on the stone floor. Inside, a long hall lined with suits of armor led to a set of double doors that opened into the throne room. Halfway down, a door on either side led to the rest of the castle. A pair of royal guards, their halberds resting on the floor, stood beside the doors.
They looked more like doormen than guards. As if reading Damien’s mind the two men pulled the doors open as they approached.
The throne room wasn’t as big as you might have expected, reflecting the fact that when they’d built the castle defense came before pomp. A red carpet ran down the center of the room between rows of empty, hard wooden benches that sat facing the raised throne where Uncle Andy sat beside another pair of guards.
Those two carried well-worn long swords and judging from their soul force were powerful warlords. Not that Uncle Andy was any slouch. His soul force almost matched his guards and he was still strong and fit, his dark hair streaked with gray. He wore a simple gold circlet, blue-and-silver tunic, black pants, and a purple robe trimmed with fox fur. When they reached the end of the carpet everyone took a knee.
“No need to stand on protocol in private, please rise.”
Damien got up and found Uncle Andy on his feet and walking down the two steps from the throne. He shook hands with Jen and her team. “I understand you did good work finding the dragon and its army and warning General Kord of its approach. Well done.”
They all bowed their heads and murmured words of thanks. Besides Jen none of them had met the king before and they seemed uncertain what to say. Uncle Andy realized it as well. “I’m sure you’re tired from your journey. Perhaps you’d like to rest in the barracks.”
“I’ll join you later,” Jen said.
The guys bowed and fled like men who’d just received a reprieve from the gallows. When they’d gone and the doors closed behind them Uncle Andy laughed. “Am I so intimidating?”
Damien grinned and shook his hand. “They just don’t know you like we do. Can we skip the award ceremony and just have the feast?”
“Same Damien, always thinking with his stomach. Unfortunately, we have to have the ceremony. General Kord put you up for the Medal of Valor and after reading his report I believe you deserve it. Don’t worry, it won’t take that long. Karrie’s around here somewhere. I believe she mentioned wanting a dance at the feast.”
Damien managed not to grimace.
Chapter 40
Two days after his meeting with Uncle Andy, Damien stood in a short hall that led to a balcony where the king would place a gold trinket around his neck. The voices of the
gathering crowd reached Damien despite the distance.
He tugged at the collar of his formal robes. A shrill, wrinkled woman had spent an hour yesterday evening measuring him and attempting to poke him with needles. If not for his personal shield he’d look like a pin cushion. He’d never met the woman before, but he felt certain she hated him on sight. When she left an hour later he returned the feeling.
Why couldn’t they just get it over with already? He couldn’t see the sun from where he stood, but he figured he had at least another half hour of waiting. Damien never imagined wishing for a demon attack, but it might be a welcome change right about now. He conjured a chair and slumped down in it.
“Damien St. Cloud?” A slender, older woman with blond hair, a mess of fine wrinkles around her sharp green eyes, and a crimson robe appeared as if out of nowhere. He saw no soul force so she must be a sorcerer, probably a member of the Crimson Legion.
Damien blinked in surprise. “Yes, ma’am, can I help you?”
“I’m Lidia Thorn, archmage of the kingdom.”
Damien scrambled to his feet, reabsorbed the speck of power he used to form the chair, and licked his lips. The archmage! What was he supposed to do, bow, salute, no one ever told him. “Nice to meet you.” That was almost certainly not the proper reply.
She smiled at his unease. “Please relax or you’ll make me nervous. I’ve been reading about you. You completed your training in the minimum required time, killed a demon a few days later, and now you almost killed a dragon. An impressive start to your career.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I haven’t had much luck finding a mentor despite my efforts. If I can’t find one soon I don’t know what sort of career I might have.”
She waved her hand as though that was of no concern. “Show me your power.”
“Ma’am?”
“Channel half your power into your shield and make it visible. Reading reports isn’t the same as seeing for myself.”
