Zachary’s heart felt like it would break as he watched the dragons butcher another defenseless group of refugees. He and Eiric were shadowing the creatures from a distance, staying above the clouds. The red dragons feasted and then flew away. Satiated for the moment, they were heading toward the Wilds, where Zachary had once made his home. He knew they would be back.
This is dark magic. Along with the words, Zachary communicated both his sadness and his fear. All I can sense is their desire to destroy anyone they encounter. He gazed into Eiric’s golden eyes. We must do something.
Even in dragon form, Zachary could feel Eiric’s frustration. There are too many of them. I don’t know what we can do.
Zachary saw the refugees’ possessions strewn about the valley. Even from his height, he could make out the color red smeared all over the road. Not even a horse was left alive. The sight sickened him. He couldn’t make himself fly down to see more.
At least gather our warriors, Zachary said. We might be able to help some of the refugees. Perhaps we can fly them to safe—
We are too few, Eiric interrupted. No, Father. They would tear us to pieces. We must protect our own.
Do you know what the humans are calling them, Eiric? Bloodren. The humans have finally begun to lose their fear of us and now, despite this being no fault of ours, they will hate us again. You are the king of all eldren. Your bond with our abilities is stronger than any other’s. You must find a solution.
Eiric’s eyes narrowed. I have tried, Father. Of course I have! All I can sense is that there is human magic in the spell also.
Then we must fight, Zachary said.
We don’t have the numbers. We can barely muster a hundred warriors, and few of us have the power to shift to dragon form. Furies are no match for these creatures. If the red dragons come to Sindara, we will struggle to survive ourselves.
We cannot let the humans suffer alone, Zachary said.
We will help them in any way we can, Father. Father? Where are you going?
Zachary turned away, flying back toward Sindara. Do not follow me. I wish to be alone for a time.
23
Chloe shuddered, and her eyes slowly opened. The first thing she saw was Sophia’s concerned face.
‘Sophia? Where am I?’ she asked hesitantly.
‘At home. How are you?’ Sophia looked anxious.
Chloe felt disoriented and confused. She tried to remember. Zachary had come to Phalesia . . . He had told her and Liana that there was going to be an attack. Dion had gone to Fort Liberty . . .
‘Dion!’ Chloe cried as she sat up.
She again saw him kneeling in front of Palemon. Palemon had raised his sword, about to end Dion’s life. Chloe had to stop him. She had lifted her staff and pointed it at Palemon, drawing on her anger and despair.
‘He is safe,’ Sophia soothed. ‘He brought you here . . . Stayed by your side for days before he had to go.’
‘What happened?’
‘The dragons went wild,’ a grim voice answered. Chloe saw Liana standing at the foot of the bed. ‘Dion killed some . . . then . . .’
‘I saw it,’ Chloe said slowly. ‘In a vision. When one dies, it resonates throughout the group.’
‘Can we stop it?’ Liana asked urgently.
Chloe shook her head. ‘Even the sorcerers of Aleuthea had to kill them in their cages. The Arch of Nisos was flawed.’ She swept her covers aside. ‘How long has it been?’
‘Several days,’ Liana said. ‘Chloe . . . Wait!’
Chloe swung her legs over the bed and stood. She weaved for a moment, light-headed and dizzy, but then the starbursts in her vision faded. She set her jaw. ‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘Where are my clothes?’
She dressed and left her bedchamber, ignoring Sophia and Liana’s protests as she walked to the kitchen and poured herself a cup of water. Gulping it down, she refilled the cup and drained it before her weak legs forced her to sit down at the high table. In front of her was a pile of flat bread and a jar of olives. She began to eat steadily, gradually feeling her strength return.
‘How did I get here?’
‘We took refuge in the citadel until the dragons were gone. They’ – Liana grimaced – ‘feasted. Then the king of Ilea arrived.’
‘Kargan?’
Liana nodded. ‘He took Palemon, Zara, and some of their soldiers and sorcerers with him. There weren’t many of them left, not after what happened. He said they were his hostages. We sailed home. We didn’t know what was coming. Now . . .’
‘What?’ Chloe looked from face to face. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s worse than we could have imagined,’ Liana said. ‘The dragons . . . They’ve been everywhere.’
‘Doing what?’
‘Killing,’ Liana said flatly. ‘Eating.’
Chloe suddenly felt sick. She made herself swallow the last mouthful of bread.
‘They’ve been targeting the smaller villages first,’ Liana continued. ‘Anywhere with people or livestock. Even fishing boats. Refugees are pouring into Phalesia. It’s harvest time, but every farm has been abandoned. And before long there won’t be a village left to attack. With so many people in the city, the dragons will come here.’
‘They’re calling them bloodren,’ Sophia said.
‘The dragons?’
Sophia nodded.
Chloe was struggling to take it all in. ‘Amos? Where is he?’
‘He’s never home anymore,’ Sophia said. ‘He’s always at the barracks or on the walls. Consuls keep coming here and asking about you.’
‘Tell them I’ll see them.’
‘Are you sure?’ Liana asked.
‘I have to do what I can.’
Liana put her hand to Chloe’s forehead and then nodded. ‘I understand.’ She sighed. ‘I should also return to my people.’
‘Can Eiric help us?’ Chloe asked.
‘If there’s anything we can do, I’m sure we will do it.’
The horn blast came again, reverberating throughout the city. Dion raced through the streets. Soldiers rushed out of houses and joined him. Refugees flattened themselves against the walls, but there were still so many that they impeded his progress.
He wore leather armor and clutched his bow tightly while he ran. The stone houses of the wealthy and the mud-brick homes of the poor passed him by. Raised voices came from all directions. People were shouting, calling on every able-bodied man to head to the walls. The horn sounded again. Everyone knew what it meant.
‘To the walls!’ Dion cried, echoing the calls around him.
He sprinted along the avenue and finally saw the gates ahead. They were broad, made of solid oak, and reinforced with heavy timber beams propped up behind them. A full division of hoplites, armed with shield and spear, stood formed up just inside. The thick walls where Xanthos faced the land rather than the sea spread out on both sides. More soldiers joined the hoplites, raced to the walls, or climbed to the roofs of the nearby houses. They were all drilled; every man knew his place.
Dion barely slowed as he came to a set of stone steps and climbed them two at a time to reach the top of the wall. It was a windy day and a strong gust pushed at his body as he stared out at the rolling hills. His eyes were on the graveled road that led to the city. The road wound back and forth before passing between Xenophon’s row of timber stacks on its way to the gates.
He immediately saw the refugees. Fathers carried children in their arms, while mothers sprinted with wailing babes. Some rode weary horses, but most were on foot. Already possessions littered both sides of the road: chests, blankets, children’s toys, and prized tools, all left behind at the last minute. The villagers’ eyes were wide with panic. They fled in desperation for the safety the city promised.
Then Dion looked above them. His eyes traveled past the road and higher, to the distant mountain peaks.
He squinted, and then he saw them.
The dragons were far away, but the individuals that made up the group were
becoming larger. With wings spread wide, they flew with speed. Dion heard the word ‘bloodren’ from among his men; even he had started using the name.
From his position on top of the wall, Dion drew in a deep breath to bellow as loud as he could. ‘Open the gates!’
Hoplites rushed forward to haul the timbers away. More soldiers lifted the bars in the slots, and then the gates peeled open.
‘Do not order your men to advance,’ a voice said beside Dion. ‘They would never get there in time. And even if they did . . .’
Dion turned to see Xenophon standing beside him. With his long beard, the sprightly old philosopher looked out of place among all the soldiers. He stood serenely even as the strong wind buffeted his loose white robe.
‘Then what do I do?’ Dion was almost irritated that Xenophon could be so calm.
‘It is time,’ Xenophon said. His blue eyes met Dion’s, and then he nodded in the direction of the stacks of timber. ‘If the people can make it past, the flames will drive the dragons away.’
Dion watched the refugees as they fled the approaching dragons. He realized immediately that Xenophon’s plan might work.
‘Archers!’ Dion roared. ‘Prepare fire arrows! As soon as the people are past the stacks, light them up!’
Around him archers grabbed the specially prepared fire arrows. From the nearby torches they lit the tightly wound cloth where a sharpened head would usually be. Dion lit his own fire arrow and nocked it to the string. His whole body was tensed as he watched the refugees run. He prayed to all the gods. The first of the people on the road reached the timber stacks, but there were many more and it would take time before they all made it past.
The wind blew out Dion’s arrow, and he was forced to light it again. He looked for Xenophon to ask him to ready another, but the old philosopher was gone, vanished as quickly as he’d appeared.
Returning his attention to the road, Dion saw that most of the fleeing people were now on the near side of the fire stacks, but those in the distant rear were in the most danger. At the very back of the group, a woman carried a small boy. Taking one look, Dion could see that she was exhausted.
Dion cursed the wind. Normally the shot wouldn’t be difficult, but the gusts were so strong that he had to brace his legs.
‘Archers, draw!’ Dion cried.
Bows creaked around him. Dion drew the string to his ear and sighted along the shaft. As the dragons descended toward the running woman, they were so close he could see their small but powerful forelimbs and their lean, muscled legs. Their jaws were parted in anticipation.
Dion held the string at full extension. He also held his breath.
Then the woman was past the timber piles, still holding the boy in her arms. With the dragons just a stone’s throw behind them, the stacks needed to light up immediately.
‘Fire!’ Dion cried.
Strings snapped. The volley of arrows flew from the walls toward the six wooden stacks.
But something was wrong. The flames at the arrows’ tips went out before they reached their destination. Dion went white. There was no time for a second shot.
Then Dion’s eyes widened. He saw a bearded old man in a loose white robe racing toward the stacks. Xenophon must have started running as soon as Dion gave his archers the first order. The philosopher held a flaming torch in his hand.
Xenophon had already left behind most of the refugees as he sprinted along the road. As Dion watched, the philosopher passed the woman carrying her child. The dragons were just moments away from the old man.
Xenophon tossed his torch onto the closest of the stacks.
The detonation blew the pile apart. Flaming timbers shot out in all directions. The stacks to both sides erupted immediately after. The sound was deafening. The dragons screeched and shied away.
Dion saw the old philosopher’s body haloed by a cloud of smoke and flame before he disappeared.
When it was over, ten or more winged corpses littered the ground. The rest of the dragons soared in circles, watching Xanthos. The city’s defenders watched them back. At some unspoken signal, the creatures turned in the air and flew away, searching for easier prey.
Standing dazed on the wall, Dion thought about Xenophon. In a few short months, he had produced ballistae and designed a fortress, but in his lifetime he had done so much more than that. Wise and intelligent, he had only appeared uncertain when it came to the alchemists’ arts.
In the end, despite not knowing why selflessness logically existed, he had proved he had a heart. He had saved lives, even at the cost of his own.
Dion smiled ruefully and shook his head. Xenophon had thought that the timber stacks would only result in tall flames.
In the end, it was his own cleverness that killed him.
24
The next day Dion was at his palace, out on the Flower Terrace. The scent of the colorful blooms around him wafted up to his nostrils, but despite the pleasant surroundings, he was thinking only dark thoughts.
He paced from one end of the terrace to the other and gazed out over the city and the surrounding hills. It was morning, and the sun cast a rosy glow on the distant peaks and glinted off the weapons and armor of the soldiers manning the walls. Xanthos was a narrow city, a collection of temples, houses, workshops, and markets squeezed between the walls and the harbor. From his vantage Dion could watch the activity on many of the streets, and saw a sea of people.
More refugees had arrived in the night, but they might be the last to make it. This group said they traveled in darkness and hid during the day, but even so they were lucky to reach the city alive. They told stories of horror: every homestead, hut, farm, and village was deserted, either abandoned or ravaged by death on wings. They had passed scene after scene where others made their final stand, with one inevitable outcome. In Xanthos, all the surrounding lands were awash with blood.
The city was now filled to bursting. Every temple was crammed with people sleeping in whatever space they could find. Even the Royal Palace’s lower level was a temporary home for dozens of families, with only the middle and upper levels reserved for Dion and his royal council. Xanthos’s population had swelled to three times its previous number.
Dion’s stomach rumbled. He hadn’t eaten breakfast, but there were people who needed the food more.
He had anticipated battling Palemon for control of the Maltherean Sea. He had thought that the war would be swift and decisive, rather than protracted. To prepare his defenses, he had sold all his winter supplies, leaving a scant reserve. Already there was strict rationing, with just a single loaf of bread and hand-sized piece of hard cheese to last a family for a day. Tomorrow they would have to halve rations again.
Soon, within a week, Xanthos would be out of food.
Then the riots would begin.
Ignoring his gnawing stomach, Dion distracted himself by inspecting the ballistae. Pointed up at the sky, they were a constant fixture of the city: interspersed along the walls, guarding the palisade along the shore, and sited on the roofs of the tallest houses. The soldiers with them knew that at any moment the dragons could return.
Including the last attack, where Xenophon gave his life to save the refugees, there had been three assaults on the city. When the defenders killed a few of the bloodren, they shrieked in shared pain. They gathered in the air out of range, glaring at the soldiers below, eager to destroy them. But then they hesitated and finally left.
How long could it continue? The dragons wanted to feast. The ballistae could kill only a few dozen at a time. There were so many people, so many tempting warm bodies.
Dion wondered how Phalesia was faring. He knew that their villages and farms had suffered the same fate as those of Xanthos, but had the city been attacked too? The last message that made it through told him Chloe was alive and well, but then . . . nothing.
He turned when he heard a voice behind him.
‘This cannot go on,’ Glaukos said.
Dion’s uncle was approaching wi
th Finn by his side. Both of them looked haggard, but then Dion supposed he did too.
‘We can’t take in any more refugees,’ Glaukos said soberly. ‘You know as well as I do that we don’t have the supplies.’
Dion’s eyes narrowed. ‘If anyone out there is still alive, and can make it here, then it is our duty to take them in.’ He glanced at Finn. ‘Do we have anything more we can contribute from the palace?’
‘We never prepared for a situation like this,’ Finn said. He looked uncharacteristically anxious. ‘I’ve scoured the whole city. After tomorrow, there’s nothing left.’
Dion’s breath caught. ‘But I thought . . .’
‘It’s a rule of keeping stores that what you’ve been keeping the longest is always in the worst state,’ Finn said. ‘I should have been more conservative, but there we have it. Rats, weevils . . . They’ve all taken their share.’
‘Soon we’ll have to take soldiers from the walls to police the city,’ Glaukos said. ‘I remember the famine thirty years ago. People always think the wealthy are hoarding. Sometimes they are.’ He shook his head. ‘You have no idea how bad it can get. We’ve taken in far too many to keep order. I understand your motivations for letting people in. But saving them may have doomed us all.’
Dion realized he was faced with the prospect of his city falling, from within or without. He tried to calm his thoughts and focus on what he could do. ‘Phalesia might have supplies—’
‘And how would we get them here?’ Glaukos interrupted with a scowl.
‘One thing at a time. We need information. We don’t even know how many people might still be out there, trying to get to the city.’ He came to a decision. ‘I’m going to take a look.’
Glaukos frowned. ‘Take a look where?’
‘Outside.’
Finn looked upset. ‘Dion, no—’
‘I make no apologies for giving sanctuary to everyone who needs it. If we know there are more people on their way, that tells us something. If every village has been destroyed, that tells us something as well.’ Dion’s voice turned grim. ‘If the land is empty, it won’t be long until hunger forces the dragons to overwhelm our defenses. At the moment, what we need is information.’
Iron Will Page 15
