Iron Will

by James Maxwell

Kargan stroked his oiled beard. ‘I will need to confer with my men.’

  Dion couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘King Eiric and I saved your life. We put ourselves directly in the enemy’s path so you could escape Palemon with half your fleet intact. You owe me.’

  Kargan spread his hands in a placating gesture. ‘Of course, King Dion. You will always have my gratitude.’

  Dion pressed on. ‘This isn’t complicated. I need you to make all speed for the island.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Help defend it from Palemon!’

  ‘But can we win?’ he asked bluntly.

  ‘We can try.’

  Kargan looked away for a moment, and then gave a sharp nod. ‘Go, King Dion. I will see you there.’

  ‘I have your word?’

  ‘Need you ask? Of course you do.’

  Kargan watched Dion go. He shook his head as the black wings propelled the lean body up into the air, and in a heartbeat the dragon had vanished into the distance. By Helios, the creatures could move swiftly when the need was on them.

  ‘New orders!’ Kargan called, pacing the deck and raising his voice so the captain and helmsman could hear him. ‘Marines, archers, ready your weapons. Be on alert!’ He saw Javid give him a nod of approval, but then Javid’s eyes darkened when Kargan continued. ‘Captain, take us far from the island. Far enough that we won’t be seen. We’re holding off.’ He nodded to the captain. ‘Pass my orders to the rest of the fleet.’

  ‘Holding off?’ Javid strode over to Kargan and hissed into his ear. ‘Why hold off? What are you doing? The king of Xanthos needs us.’

  ‘Remember your place.’ Kargan stared into Javid’s eyes until he backed away. He softened his tone. ‘Do not forget, my friend, that I was the one who helped Solon build this empire. In my time I have learned a thing or two. It always pays to have your force at full strength, and to arrive when your enemies are at their weakest.’

  ‘Enemies?’ Javid scowled. ‘Xanthos is our ally.’

  ‘Xanthos’s days are numbered.’

  Javid opened his mouth, but Kargan cut him off with a gesture. ‘Dion is young and proud,’ Kargan said. ‘He will fight valiantly. But I won’t waste our forces on a doomed struggle. The best plan is to let them fight it out. We will wait . . . and find out who the victor is going to be.’

  15

  Palemon finally saw Fort Liberty come into view. He was unfamiliar with the place, and roved his eyes over it from his lofty height on dragon back. The town by the shore was unimportant. Several ships nestled in the tiny harbor, enclosed in the embrace of twin headlands. A plateau of scrubby ground would afford long views of the surrounding sea, and was where the king of Xanthos had chosen to place a small fort, a citadel of sorts that defended the settlement below it.

  Palemon saw a few hundred soldiers manning the citadel, staring up at the sky and taking in the sight of their unfolding doom. He smiled, and then turned to take in the force arrayed around him. He was at the head of an immense army, with as many dragons surrounding him as there were defenders below. One man of Xanthos for every dragon and its rider. The battle would be over in moments.

  He met Zara’s gaze. She was flying at his left, her glittering blue eyes filled with excitement and anticipation. The sorceress held copper reins in one hand and her fire staff in the other. More sorcerers were fanned out on Palemon’s flanks. So many wings beat at the air that their fluttering movement was almost hypnotic.

  Palemon had slowed, and now the army was formed up and ready. Victory was assured. There were archers below, but dragon skin was too tough for all but the luckiest strike. Like the rest of his cold bloods, Palemon wore chain mail. The newer recruits from Malakai wore leather armor, but they would be difficult to hit compared with the dragons they rode.

  He turned around and lifted his broadsword into the sky. The men roared. Warriors from Necropolis and clansmen from the desert rode side by side, wielding spears, swords, and axes. Their faces were flushed with battle lust. They were well trained and sure of victory.

  Palemon faced forward once more, still holding his sword aloft. The message he was sending to his enemies would be clear. But if total surrender didn’t come swiftly, he would teach more lessons. Blood would flow until it ran in the streets. Those soldiers down there . . . He would enslave their sisters, mothers, wives, and children. He would place their rulers’ heads on spikes. Terror would be his weapon, and he had the means to bring it about.

  Then, when the first of the Realm’s nations swore fealty, he would receive tributes of gold and silver and young men to form a new, land-based army. The threat of the dragons would keep them in line. More traditional forces would swell in numbers, until no one would ever stand in his way.

  When Kyphos returned, their people would always know that Palemon, the thirteenth king of that name, had rescued them from their exile. Palemon’s lifelong quest would be complete. He would have returned the descendants of Aleuthea to their former glory.

  Palemon drew in a deep breath, about to cry out and point his sword at the citadel on the plateau, unleashing his army to war. He suddenly stopped.

  A solitary man in a crimson tunic was walking away from the citadel. He was slim but broad-shouldered, with light-colored hair. The man stared up at the dragon army as he took long strides. When he was far from the safety of the stronghold, at least half a mile away, he came to a halt.

  Palemon lowered his sword. He knew who the man was: Dion, king of Xanthos. Dion had once pretended to be cowed, and kneeled to him, but then Palemon discovered it was all an act. Dion and the dark-haired woman – Chloe, Zara had said her name was – had broken the spell parting the sea, nearly costing Palemon his life.

  ‘Sire,’ Zara called out. ‘Don’t. We can easily destroy him.’

  ‘Wait here,’ Palemon said, his gaze fixed on the king of Xanthos. ‘Everyone: wait on my command!’

  Palemon issued an instruction to the creature under him. His scarlet dragon left the group and flew toward where Dion stood alone, on the treeless plain outside the citadel. The ground approached with speed. The dragon’s wings beat down at the end, lifting up a cloud of brown dust.

  Palemon pulled up and settled a stone’s throw from the ruler of Xanthos. He dismounted and, sword in hand, he approached the young king.

  Dion’s expression wasn’t vengeful or steely. Palemon knew that Dion blamed him for his young bride’s death, and if someone had treated Palemon as he had Dion, he would make him suffer for all eternity.

  But Dion’s face revealed a man resigned. He carried no weapon. Palemon knew then that although the battle hadn’t been fought, he had already won.

  Palemon finally stood in front of him. Taller than the young king, he gazed down at him with narrowed eyes.

  ‘Try to change your form and I will cleave your head from your shoulders,’ Palemon said.

  Dion’s heart was pounding. His stomach was clenched so tightly that he wanted to be sick.

  All of his preparations had come to nothing. He had worked tirelessly to ready Xanthos for confrontation, borrowing money, selling precious treasures, building defenses, and boosting his men’s morale. He had recruited Xenophon and devised new weapons. With the help of Chloe, Finn, and Liana, he had strengthened alliances and shared knowledge. He had thrust responsibility onto Cob and Roxana.

  But now that he was here, in front of his tiny citadel, seeing Palemon’s indomitable army amassed in the sky above, he knew he couldn’t win. Despite Kargan’s promise, the Ileans never came. Despite the fact that Dion hated Palemon more than any man living, he had to face the bitter truth.

  Palemon stood in front of him, his expression both disdainful and victorious. He held the sword he had inherited from his namesake. The weapon was sharp and long, glinting as it reflected the sunlight. Dion saw ancient designs on its wide blade, swirling patterns and angular symbols.

  Palemon scowled. ‘You look better than the last time I saw you. What do you want?’ />
  Dion didn’t immediately reply. He looked back at the citadel, remembering the young faces of the men who stood ready to defend it. He was about to turn away when he saw something that made him take a sharp breath.

  A silver dragon was flying down to the citadel. There was a woman on the dragon’s back. They were soon out of view, but Dion knew immediately who they were.

  Chloe was here. He cursed the gods. Why had she come? Didn’t she realize that she could be killed? She should be somewhere else . . . anywhere else.

  ‘Well?’ Palemon demanded.

  Dion faced Palemon once more. He had never felt despair like this before. Seeing Chloe had confirmed for him that he had to do what he needed to do. He hoped she would understand. This was for her. This was for his people.

  ‘Please,’ Dion said, the single word tasting like ash on his tongue. ‘You don’t need to do this.’

  ‘But I do,’ said Palemon. ‘You and your people won’t understand our power. Not unless I show it to you.’

  ‘We can find a way.’ Dion swallowed. His eyes burned. He looked up at the army of dragons again. ‘People don’t need to die. If you give me your word that you will treat us well, I will . . .’ He cleared his throat. ‘I will surrender.’

  Palemon’s lips curved in a smile. He was enjoying his moment. ‘Unconditionally?’

  ‘If it saves the lives of my people . . . yes.’

  ‘On your knees,’ Palemon growled. ‘If you plan to swear fealty, you must kneel.’

  Dion nodded. Hating himself, he sank slowly to his knees. He was aware of all the people in the citadel watching him. His men. Cob and Roxana. Liana. Chloe. He had told them to be steadfast, to be brave, yet here he was.

  ‘Bow your head,’ Palemon instructed. ‘You must kiss the steel of my sword, the symbol of my kingship.’

  Gazing down at the kneeling king of Xanthos, a man of mixed blood, half-eldran and half-human, Palemon knew then what he had to do.

  Dion was right. Great numbers of people didn’t need to die. Palemon needed subjects, not vast piles of corpses. He needed his vassals to thrive, provided they knew their place.

  The young soldiers of Xanthos didn’t need to die.

  Not if one man would do.

  The sun blazed overhead. The wind blew dust over the rough ground. The dragon riders watched from the sky; the citadel’s defenders looked on from the tall walls.

  Palemon fixed his gaze on the top of Dion’s head, and then his eyes traveled down to the young man’s neck. When he sliced Dion’s head from his shoulders, many would carry the tale. He wanted to send a message, and the message would be sent. Nothing made a good tale quite like the bloody, ruthless death of a popular monarch. Palemon didn’t need to risk any of his own men. He could end it all here, as far as Xanthos was concerned, and likely Phalesia as well. He could make one of his followers the new king of Xanthos – perhaps Kyphos, when he returned.

  If it didn’t work, he could always try war again.

  Palemon spread his legs apart, gripping the hilt of his broadsword with both hands. Dion had his head bowed. Palemon kept his eyes on the back of the young man’s neck. He would at least make it a clean strike. Dion was giving Palemon everything. There was no purpose in making him suffer further.

  With a grunt, Palemon raised his arms above his head.

  Dion heard the sound and his eyes shifted upward. He saw the shining steel blade poised to strike. There was nothing he could do.

  16

  ‘What’s he doing?’ Chloe asked.

  ‘He’s surrendering,’ Cob said grimly. ‘He knows we can’t win.’ He shook his head. ‘The poor lad . . .’

  Chloe, Liana, Cob, and Roxana stood on the citadel’s battlements surrounded by soldiers. Everyone around them was white-faced. Every set of eyes was fixed on the two men half a mile from the walls. Dion looked small beside Palemon. Dion was saying something. Then he was sinking to his knees.

  ‘Wait, something’s happening,’ Liana whispered. The eldran suddenly screamed and took hold of Cob’s arm.

  Palemon had raised his sword above his head. The steel blade flashed in the sunlight.

  All Chloe knew was that she had to stop it.

  She lifted her staff and pointed the iron claw. There was no time to worry about the true path. The Aleuthean way was simpler, but more dangerous. Rather than purity, it relied on emotion.

  The power inside Chloe felt somehow bigger since she had inherited the Oracle’s gift. She didn’t even think of anger; she was a spirit of rage incarnate. The flames in her mind had once swelled like bubbling fire, but now she was filled with an ocean. The magic she had drawn on to whip wind into a tornado was nothing compared to this. She poured anger onto the fire, uncaring that it was chaotic. Heat rushed to her face. Her vision became washed with red.

  The iron claw came alive as if a sun had been hiding under its skin. Chloe heard a piercing noise and realized it was herself screaming. She had seen the magus whose staff this had been launch balls of flame and knew they rarely traveled farther than a hundred paces. This was half a mile.

  When it happened, it made a sound like tearing cloth.

  A projectile erupted from the iron claw, a beam of pure energy, crimson and deadly. It streaked through the air, sizzling as it went.

  Chloe’s face became hotter and hotter. Her vision was colored with red, but she fought to remain conscious.

  The bolt of fire missed Palemon. But it struck the sword. The blade became bright hot and Palemon’s hands jerked violently.

  Chloe sank into darkness.

  Palemon was temporarily blinded by a flash as something struck the sword. He wore mailed gloves on his hands, but they did nothing to stop the pain. He screamed.

  Meanwhile Dion was on his knees but realizing he was still alive. The confusion in the young man’s eyes swiftly became rage.

  Suddenly Dion roared and leaped forward at Palemon. In an instant they were both wrestling as each fought to grab hold of the sword. Palemon was the stronger man and the more experienced fighter, but he was in pain. He grimaced and tried to fend off the younger man, even as searing heat sizzled on his hands.

  The sword went flying.

  It sailed in an arc and clattered onto the ground. Palemon glanced at the weapon and suddenly realized he was unarmed, fending off an enemy he had been about to execute in cold blood. And this particular enemy could tear Palemon’s limbs from his body if he changed his shape.

  Palemon shoved Dion hard enough to send him sprawling. He then whirled and began to run.

  In moments he reached his dragon and took hold of one of the knobs behind its head to pull himself up. He issued a command through the copper chains. The dragon’s wings beat down at the ground, pressing him hard into his seat as it launched into the sky. Glancing behind him, he saw Dion clench his fists in frustration: Palemon would soon be surrounded by an army. Dion realized he needed to see to his defenses and began to sprint toward the citadel.

  Palemon took stock of himself. His hands were burned, causing him to wince as he held the reins. He was furious that he’d left his sword behind, but he would be able to collect it when the battle was over.

  He leaned forward on his mount. His army still hovered in the sky. Two hundred and forty dragons maintained strict formation, ready for his command. He slowed as he neared one of his warriors and called out. ‘Barak, your spear.’ Palemon caught the weapon out of the air. He nodded his thanks and flew to his previous place beside Zara. ‘You saw it,’ Palemon muttered. ‘I want that woman dead.’

  Zara scowled at the citadel below. ‘I will make sure of it.’

  Ignoring the pain in his hands, Palemon raised his spear. He turned around and bellowed. ‘Men! The king of Xanthos is in that fortress. There is a sorceress there also. I promise gold, glory, and titles to whoever brings me the head of either one. Are you ready to show them what you can do?’

  Palemon’s warriors roared.

  He pointed his spear at the c
itadel. ‘Ready your weapons. Sorcerers, prepare your magic. On my command!’ He paused to take a deep breath. ‘Attack!’

  Palemon ordered his dragon to fly. He descended from the sky, heading in a direct line for the citadel. Zara and her sorcerers joined him on his flanks. The first row of a dozen dragons followed behind him, then another, until the entire dragon army was descending on the fortress.

  Dion sprinted as fast as he could toward the citadel. He knew as soon as Palemon fled that the army of dragons would attack at any moment. The tall walls of the fortress loomed over him. He could soon make out the faces of individual soldiers, waving their arms and calling out for him to hurry. The wide double gates were opening slowly. They were only a few feet apart when he slipped through the narrow gap. He shouted at the men on the other side to close them.

  Still he kept running.

  It was dark inside. The citadel’s roof was high overhead, supported by strong timber beams. The floor was dirt. Bare stone made up the walls. A handful of open archways revealed storage areas crammed with crates and barrels. At the rear was a sturdy door leading to the armory.

  But Dion had his sights on the central set of stone stairs that would take him to the roof above. He took the steps two at a time, seeing bright light and blue sky. He reached the top and burst into the open. Immediately he gazed up.

  Palemon’s dragon was rejoining the army, still in position high above.

  Dion then scanned the citadel’s defenses. Soldiers everywhere were preparing for combat. Archers stood with arrows nocked. Most people were up on the battlements, where ballista after ballista stood side by side, covered in rough sackcloth.

  ‘You’re unharmed?’ Cob grabbed Dion.

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Quick. Come.’

  Dion followed Cob to the battlements. Soldiers parted to make way, clearing space on the walls. Dion saw Liana kneeling beside Chloe. Chloe’s hand was still clutched around a long wooden staff, and Liana was trying to pry her fingers free. Chloe’s face was gray. Her eyes were closed, and her jaw was tight.