The Dragon Wakes (The Land of Fire and Ash Book 1)

by Sarah Dalton

  Lottie nodded. Her eyes were steel and stone, hard and grey. She squared her shoulders, ready for the next part of the plan. Reva, Karine, and several other girls pushed the bottom of the door until it twisted far enough for Lottie to squeeze through. Then they let the door move back into place. Reva twisted the ladle in her hand—it was now scraped and bent from the work—and began to pace the short space in front of the barn door. Her hands and face were filthy with dust and there were splinters sticking out of her skin. She busied herself with digging out the splinters and tried not to think about Lottie out there on her own.

  “What happens now?” asked one of the other girls. The voice came from the centre of the throng of prisoners, hidden by the night shadows.

  “We wait for Lottie to return,” Karine said. “She’s creating a distraction.”

  “We wait for now,” Reva said. “Then we escape this forsaken prison. When we get out there, we stick together as much as we can, but if any of us are separated, we head for the beaches, do you understand? Get to the beaches on the coast. If you do not find the group, stay away from the Market Road and any of the larger towns. The Sisters will come looking for us, I know they will. Use your wits and stay safe.”

  A murmur ran through the group until Reva shushed them. She needed to listen at the door. She tried to pull the door away from its frame so she could see into the courtyard, but aside from the dim light of braziers in the distance, she saw nothing. Reva returned to digging out her splinters, and when she was done with them, she bit at her fingernails.

  She had moved onto her second hand when she heard the shout. It did not come from Lottie, that much she knew. It was the sound of a guard shouting, though Reva did not know to whom he shouted. Shortly after the shout, footsteps sounded, approaching the door at a fast pace. Reva held her breath as a key scraped the lock. Reva and the others took a step back. Reva held the ladle aloft as heat spread from her chest to her jaw. Her palms were sweaty and she feared she might drop her meagre weapon, but she had the others to think about. She must strike the guard hard and true to give them a chance to get out.

  When the wood of the door grated against the floor, she raised the ladle even higher, poised to bring it down against their foe. Light flooded the hall, and for a heartbeat she was near blinded, but then she saw the long, fine hair of a girl haloed by the bright blaze outside. Lottie stepped into the hall.

  “We must go now,” she said. “It’s done.” She lifted an iron ring fitted with keys. “And I stole this while I was out there.

  Reva peeked past her friend to see the cause of the light, and she smiled. Lottie had done it. She had set fire to the storehouse, and all the guards and Sisters were running to save their goods.

  Luca

  Geraldo’s voice boomed over the sound of frightened people scurrying through the camp. Luca stood in the centre and watched men hurry to the weapons tent, pulling mail and leather armour over loose tunics. The women scooped up their children and looked to their husbands. But Geraldo kept a cool head. He gave orders to the non-Menti women, children, and elders—anyone too old to swing a sword—to run towards Zean. They were to go as high as they possibly could, high enough that a horse could not reach them, and to take food and water with them. All others were to arm themselves. Luca finally snapped out of his fugue, and hurried towards the weapons tent for sword, shield, and armour.

  Tania was already there. She was the one who thrust a hauberk in his direction, and boiled leather armour for him to don. It was all ill-fitting and loose, but it was better than nothing. He took a plain sword that was light and sharp enough, and a large heater shield painted in black but scraped and chipped from use.

  “So the king’s men have come for us,” Tania said as she practiced her water magic in the palm of her hand. “We will show them how the Menti fight!”

  But Luca’s chest tightened when he saw Tania’s wide, excited grin. He had heard Matias’s tales of war, and there was no honour in the things he told him. Matias had seen men begging for their lives, honourable soldiers hacking at yielding men, and the way common folk were abused after the battle was won. Luca was not excited about the prospect of fighting his father’s men. He despised the thought that people would die. People he respected.

  Tania grasped his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Ludo. Now is the time for you to use your powers once and for all. There is no need to worry about burning down the camp now. It’s time to loose all you have on the men who have come to kill us. You must do it. I will be here to help you.”

  Luca gripped his sword as they left the tent and joined Geraldo in the centre of the camp. They were outnumbered, Luca knew, and that frightened him. Nico hurried around the camp lighting braziers and torches—otherwise they had only the moon to guide them. Axil came to Luca’s side.

  “Time to remove the bracelet, my prince,” Axil said.

  Geraldo overhead the word ‘prince’ and narrowed his eyes at Luca, but he did not say anything about it. Luca stared down at the iron bracelet around his wrist. He knew the old man was right, but it was still hard for him to remove the band. But he did, and he gave it to Axil for safekeeping.

  The first wave came from the east. Luca watched the unit crest the hill and wait. At first, he wondered if they were waiting for them to attack, but then the rain of arrows began to fall.

  “Jossa!” Geraldo yelled.

  A wiry boy with dark skin stepped forward and raised his hands. Luca had seen him around the camp and was aware of his powers, but he had never seen them in full force like this. The arrows were swept away with a wave of his hand, sending them scattering towards the tents instead. Luca was awed by the power of Jossa’s retaliation. It sent a backdraft of strong wind into his face, whipping up the ashes around them.

  But the archers were ready for more. Another set of arrows came hurtling at the camp, forcing Jossa to use his powers again. As the arrows were blown away at the command of Jossa, an infantry began to make its way down the hill towards them. Luca gripped the hilt of his sword and swallowed nervously. This was his first taste of battle, and adrenaline coursed through his veins. The faces of the soldiers came into view. They were all Estala-born, he knew that, with the same olive-tinged skin as his own and the chiselled cheekbones of underfed foot soldiers. There was a growl by his side as two large wolves padded next to him. One must be Win; the other could be Iggy or maybe Bea, still young, but fearsome in their wolf form.

  “Attack!” Geraldo cried, and they ran as a unit towards the soldiers.

  The wolf next to him leapt into the air, knocking a small soldier onto his back. Luca parried a blow, and hit his foe squarely in the chest with his shield, barely in time to dodge another blow. He spun on his heel and turned to face his attacker. The man was older than some of the others in the infantry—he must have been thirty, maybe more—and his eyes widened with recognition when he saw Luca advance with his sword held high. But the man did not turn and run, nor did he fight with purely defensive blows. He came at Luca with the full force of his sword, aiming for his head and chest.

  Luca realised in that moment that the king had ordered his death. The soldier had recognised him and went for the kill anyway. Luca dodged a blow and swung his sword, slicing through the man’s throat. He turned away at the point of death and continued through the battlefield with blood splattered across his armour.

  He felt a sudden surge of panic run through his body, but he quelled it by concentrating on his foe. He blocked with his shield, stabbed with his sword. The piece of steel was more a part of him that it had ever been before. His body followed the footwork he had learned in training without so much as a conscious thought, yet the fight was unlike anything he had experienced before. The blows were harder, scrappier, and often knocked him off balance. One sword caught his arm, slicing into his flesh, yet he hardly felt it. He was lucky enough to move out of the path of a blow that might have taken his head, by stumbling after blocking a different soldier with his shield.


  Tania appeared at his side—her sword coated in blood—and a jet of water pulsed through the unit, knocking enemy soldiers to the ground. She cut through a man on his way to attack Luca and nodded at him with a smile.

  “Get back, Ludo,” Tania instructed.

  Luca hurried to stand behind her, and watched as Tania created a mighty wave that crashed through the infantry, knocking the soldiers to the ground. Then, Luca and Tania hurried back to the other rebels as a second attack came from the west. This time, the king’s cavalry approached the camp, galloping down a steep slope to join them in the valley.

  The cavalry archers loosed their arrows, but by now Jossa’s powers were diminished. He managed to knock less than half away on this attempt. The others pelted the Menti, and Luca watched in horror as a wolf was knocked down. Axil took an arrow to the arm. Luca’s heart twisted when he saw the pinched expression of pain on the old man’s face. He had been brave to fight, and Luca had seen the Brother of the Enlightened swing his sword as well as any fighter, but his place was not on the battlefield.

  “You must go to the healers,” Luca told his mentor. “Nico will heal you.”

  But the old man grasped Luca on the shoulder and said, “Today you will use your powers, Luca. The Menti cannot survive without you.”

  “Come, let us go to the infirmary tent.” Luca began to lead Brother Axil away, but an enemy soldier ran at them. Luca parried the blow and cut him down. A heartbeat later, a riderless horse galloped into his path. He staggered back, colliding with Tania, and Axil hurried away. Luca watched his Governor enter Nico’s tent with a sigh of relief before he turned back to the battle with a pattering heart. The cavalry were cutting through the Menti fighters with ease. Tania managed to unhorse several of the fighters, the wolves attacked with ferocity, and he had seen Shia transform himself into the faces of the enemy as he whirled through the battlefield, stabbing men while wearing their own face. But the numbers were not in their favour.

  Luca saw Geraldo in trouble. He had been set upon by three enemy soldiers, and though the man was strong enough to take on two men, the third was advancing with his sword ready to plunge into his back. Luca hurried towards the fight, met the soldier’s steel with his own, and pushed the man off balance before running him through the belly with his sword. Geraldo dealt with his two attackers before turning to Luca.

  “That was well done.” Geraldo’s eyes turned towards the cavalry. “We need something done about them. Use your powers.”

  “What if I hit our men?”

  “They will follow me. I will pull them away from the main fight.”

  Before Luca could reply, he was distracted by an attack from a wild-eyed young man screeching his way through the battle. The soldier was covered almost head to toe in blood, dirt, and ashes. Luca managed to get his shield up in time, but the young soldier hit the wood so hard a large chunk was cut from the centre, and the blow pushed him back onto the ground. Luca rolled to the left as the aggressive soldier aimed his sword for his throat. He was half-risen and on his knees when he raised his sword to meet another blow. Luca realised that his opponent was a far better fighter than he, and Geraldo was busy taking on a soldier on horseback. Tania had her hands raised, a stream of water pushing the enemy forces back. The ground was slick from Tania’s water, and as Luca tried to get to his feet he slipped in the mud.

  The soldier pushed his sword down towards Luca, using all of his weight to push the blade towards Luca’s throat. It would take one enemy soldier to realise he was vulnerable and the fight would be over. Matias always said you did not spar in a battlefield, you stabbed, hacked, unarmed your foe, and moved on. You did not stop and fight just one opponent, especially if you were a prince, because there would always be someone waiting to stab you in the back. The battle ends when the army commander dies. Or, in this case, the battle would end when the wanted party—Luca—was killed.

  But Luca did not want to die, and he especially did not want to die on his knees in the mud. He manoeuvred his weight to the left, pushing the soldier’s sword away in the process, and rolled away from his opponent. Then he leapt to his feet and attacked the soldier while he was off balance. Steel sang against steel until the boy landed a blow with his shield, winding Luca. He almost fell to his knees, but forced strength back into his body, dodging a blow from the right, narrowly missing an arrow, and getting his shield up as another blow came down. Screaming a battle-cry, he charged forward, shoving the shield against the boy. When he plunged his steel into the flesh of his enemy, a surge of hatred, fear, and frustration spread through him all at once. The boy’s wild eyes glazed over at the moment of death. Luca emptied his stomach on the patchy grass beside him. His knees began to weaken, and it was only when a hand grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him up that he regained his balance.

  “Ludo!” yelled Geraldo. “Ludo!”

  Luca was lost in those wide eyes, eyes he had watched glaze over as the boy—such a good foe, an honourable challenger—had died. A hand struck him hard around the face. For a moment, he thought he saw Matias standing before him, but then he remembered that he had killed Matias as well. He was a killer.

  “Luca!”

  This time the voice came from a distance, almost floating over the battlefield screams. He blinked, trying to get his eyes to focus as the blurring figures blazed through the camp, covered in blood and fire. He blinked again and saw an overturned brazier on the ground, and fire-arrows flying through the air. How long had the battle been going? It was still the dead of night, and the sky was a cloak of darkness, but there was light around him. He realised with a jolt that the tents were on fire.

  “Did I do it?” Luca asked.

  “No,” Geraldo said. “They are loosing fire arrows at us. Look, there sits the leader with their archers over on the hill.”

  Luca stared up towards the hill Geraldo was pointing at. “I should go to them.”

  “What madness are you speaking?”

  “I should go. I am their prince.”

  Screams sounded through the camp. Luca wanted nothing more than to block them out. Perhaps if the cloak of darkness could fall a little lower… At least then he would not see…

  “They are here for me,” he said. “I could have stopped this. I should have stopped this.”

  “Aye, well, none of that matters anymore. Whoever you are, you’re a Menti now, which means you’re one of us.”

  “No,” Luca said. He pulled free from Geraldo’s grasp and staggered through the camp towards the men on the hill. “No, I must go to them.” He stared up at the shadowy figures waiting for him. There was a unit of archers and a man sat atop a horse flanked by more soldiers. Geraldo was right, the archers had stayed with their commander, a man who was not fighting with his men. But who was it? Who would the king send to kill him? And who would sit on the hill and not fight with the rest of the soldiers? Who was important enough not to risk his life?

  Luca knew immediately who it was. There was one logical option. His brother: Stefan.

  Stefan

  Brother Mikkel lifted the torch higher. From his position on the hill overlooking the Menti camp, Stefan could see the battle in its throes. The Menti had fought well against the attack from the east, but their blasphemous powers were fading against his cavalry, and now his men had set fire to their camp. Many of the Menti were rushing around like fools trying to put the fire out.

  But more than anything, Stefan wanted to see his brother. He wanted to gaze upon his face as he died. But try as he might, he could not see his brother’s face in the dark, and Brother Mikkel had insisted that the prince not join the fray. Though Stefan saw the merit in him not joining the battle—he was the heir to the throne in Estala, after all—there was part of Stefan that wanted to bloody his sword. Perhaps then his men would finally respect him like they used to respect Matias. His older brother always fought alongside his own men, though Matias was something of a trusting idiot. That was why Matias was dead.

  �
�They are outnumbered and weakening,” Brother Mikkel said triumphantly. “You will need to reward your generals when we give word to your father of this great victory.”

  “It is not a victory until my brother is dead,” Stefan said. “I will not rejoice until I am brought his head.” Stefan gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on his reins. The horse danced beneath him, agitated and eager for battle.

  “Loose!” called General Tyca, and another round of fire-coated arrows rained down on the camp below.

  “They tire,” Mikkel said. “They barely shifted the arrows this time. I can see only one wolf now. The water wielder has almost come to a stop after turning the camp into a mud-filled cesspool, and the rest are little more than necromancers.”

  Stefan had seen a man change his skin into another man’s skin, a girl change into a wolf, and several of his own men had stabbed themselves with some kind of mind control trick. There was a young Menti throwing weak fireballs at his men, but he had seemed too short to be his brother, though they were a distance away and the evening was dark. It was possible that one was Luca. Stefan hoped the boy dead. That was his one wish out of all of this.

  “There is a man approaching, Your Highness. Shall I send soldiers to deal with him? Perhaps the Menti want to parley?” General Tyca said.

  “Lift the torch. I wish to see his face,” Prince Stefan commanded.

  A shiver ran down Stefan’s spine. He knew, with almost complete certainty, that the man approaching would be Luca. He leaned forward across his horse’s neck to get a good look at the man. The figure was in shadow for an agonising amount of time before the flickering torch finally lit his face. It was him.

  “Let him approach,” Stefan said, sliding down from his saddle.

  “Your Highness, it is Prince Luca!” Mikkel said. The Brother stepped in front of Stefan and blocked his path. “We know nothing of the boy’s powers. There is evidence to suggest he is a powerful Menti—”