Dragon Call (The Throne of the Dragon Queen Book 2)

by Clare Smith

  That wall had been made up of tightly fitting blocks of stone, and as he ran his hand over the wall in front of him, he could feel the outline of the stone blocks which fitted together perfectly. He tried to recall how Hoisinferringar had opened the wall, but as he’d been standing behind him at the time, the detail had been hidden from him. That meant he would have to approach the problem slowly and methodically so he didn’t miss anything.

  He started with the stone block up in the right hand corner and carefully pressed the dragon tooth against the stone. Nothing happened, which didn’t surprise him too much, so he moved onto the next block. That didn’t move either so he tried the next and the next until he’d tried them all.

  By the time he reached the last one in the bottom left hand corner he was tired, aching and fed up, but he wasn’t going to give up, so he started all over again, passing the dragon tooth across each stone block in turn. When he reached the end and still nothing had happened, he wasn’t just tired and aching, but frustrated too, but he would be damned if he would let the wall beat him. This time he tried pressing the dragon tooth hard into the rock whilst asking it to open in ancient Assimusian, which is what he guessed the betrayer would have spoken.

  When the last block failed to respond to his request, his frustration turned to anger and he slammed the dragon tooth hard enough against one of the central blocks to make the tip of the tooth dig into his palm and his hand to sting.

  “Open, blast you!” he shouted, barely refraining from kicking the wall in frustration.

  Instantly the wall shimmered and disappeared making him drop the dragon tooth in surprise as he stumbled forwards. The wall began to coalesce again and he quickly scooped up the dragon tooth in case he became trapped. That was enough to make the wall vanish again, and he stood there, breathing hard and clutching the tooth tightly in his hand. Once he’d recovered from his shock, he put the tooth safely in his belt pouch and looked around him.

  It was like nothing he’d ever seen before. Stacked against the walls were row upon row of clay pipes which reached from floor to ceiling and looked just like the surface of a honeycomb. From where he stood, he could see that the majority of the pipes contained scrolls, and there were only a few pipes at the very bottom which were empty. There must have been hundreds of them, neatly stacked away waiting for him to find them and read them all.

  Almost in a daze, he went to the nearest ones and pulled out a scroll made of rough parchment, but tied neatly with a yellow band. He unrolled it and glanced at the bold script which covered the parchment, noted that it appeared to be a list of names with numbers next to them and let it roll back up again. Without bothering to retie it, he pushed it back into its pipe and pulled out another one.

  This had a blue band, and the writing was so small that he couldn’t read it, so he shoved it back and took another. It turned out to be another list of names and numbers so he dropped it on the floor and grabbed another which was similar to the first and was thrown aside. Almost franticly he worked his way along a stack of pipes as his impatience grew. When he reached for one on the top row the brittle parchment turned to dust in his hand.

  He cursed and threw the faded band away, and then suddenly realised that the light in the cave had nearly faded to nothing and the stone wall he’d walked through had once again become solid. Not only that, but he was breathing hard as if he’d run a race and sweat was running down between his shoulder blades. Around him was a scene of devastation where dozens of parchments, which had been carefully stored away for over two centuries, lay carelessly scattered across the floor.

  With a groan he slumped to the floor in the middle of them unable to believe what he’d done. If he’d carried on as he had been doing then the ancient and irreplaceable dragon law would have been lost forever and it would have been all his fault. Fortunately the magic which must have protected the archives had prevented him going that far and perhaps, in its own way, had taught him a lesson about taking time and care with the knowledge which was stored there.

  Carefully he started cleaning up the mess, rolling up the parchments and retying them. He couldn’t remember where they all went, but if he tried to put one in the wrong place his hand started shaking and didn’t stop until he’d found the right opening. There was only the one parchment that he couldn’t return because it had fallen to pieces and he just hoped that it hadn’t contained something vital.

  When everything was back in place, he walked slowly along the stack of pipes until it felt natural for him to stop, and then he pulled out a faded parchment from a pipe close to the ceiling. It was brittle with age and the band had faded to a mottled grey, but it felt comfortable to hold, as if he was meant to read it. He carried it carefully towards the wall, which opened up for him, laid it gently on the table and unrolled it.

  The parchment cracked in the middle and pieces at the edges broke away, but all the words, written in ancient Assimusian, remained intact. He stared down at it in wonder, certain that he’d discovered what he had been searching for and felt the dragon spirit within him stir. Now he had a real hope of being able to call the dragons to him, but he couldn’t do this on his own in the remaining time he had, as there were too many parchments to decipher and too many things he needed to find out.

  He had to have some help but there were only two people he knew who could read. One was Collia, but she had ridden away, so that just left Rabayan. He couldn’t read ancient Assimusian, but there might be other parchments he could work on. The only problem was that, after what had happened in the past, he was reluctant to trust him, but in the end Rabayan had been the only one who had believed in him and hadn’t deserted him.

  Leaving the parchment where it was he walked out of the archives and was surprised to discover it was daylight and the sun was already two hours old. He walked from the cave to where they had their camp, looking forward to some hot oats for breakfast, but was disappointed to find that the fire pit was cold and empty. He supposed it was not that surprising with their stock of firewood being so low. Still, he would have liked some hot food as he hadn’t eaten the night before, but would have to settle on dried meat instead.

  Yawning slightly, he crossed to where the packs were stored and then stared down at what was left. His things were there but Rabayan’s few belongings had gone, along with the saddle for the last remaining horse, half of the supplies and the Moonstone Blade. He supposed that Rabayan could have moved them to the stable, but in his heart he knew what had happened. Nevertheless he went to check, but his guess had been right, the last horse was missing.

  So Rabayan, like all the others, had given up on him and, despite his good words, the Superior had left him on his own. In a way he could understand why, but it didn’t make him feel any better. He was stuck here now with only a week’s supplies, and no way out except a long walk down the mountain where the Passonians would probably be waiting for him.

  The best thing he could do was to leave now whilst he still had enough food to keep him going and find somewhere to hide, but he couldn’t do that. Inside the cave were the answers he sought, and he wasn’t going to give up until he’d called the dragons back to Assimus, or had died in the attempt.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Persuasion

  Fire Mountains and Phillos

  Collia glared at Tingallent’s retreating back and wondered if he’d picked the steepest, rockiest path he knew down the mountain just to spite her. She’d expected him to take a quick and easy route back to the rebels’ camp, gather his men together and go to Phillos from there. Instead he’d picked this narrow, almost vertical path which a mountain goat would have difficulty descending.

  When she’d caught up with him and told him she was going with him Tingallent hadn’t been at all pleased, so she supposed this was his way of getting back at her. Well, she might not be an experienced horsewoman with fancy riding skills, but she knew enough to grit her teeth and hang onto the beast. One thing was for ce
rtain, she wasn’t going to give Tingallent the satisfaction of asking him to find an easier route.

  Tingallent glanced over his shoulder and then cursed under his breath. If it hadn’t been for Collia he would have taken a quicker route down, but the woman had never learnt to ride properly so he’d had to find an easier path. Even so she looked terrified and was hanging onto her horse so tightly that her knuckles were going white. Still, once they reached the foot of the mountain she could go her own way and he would be free to go to Phillos and save the people of the Enclave.

  The only problem with that was he had no idea how he was going to do it. He hated to admit it, but all the objections which Todden and Rabayan had raised were valid, and all the suggestions he’d made so far to rescue the inhabitants of the Enclave were likely to get him and a lot of other people killed. That was the reason he hadn’t returned to the camp and persuaded his men to follow him.

  Before he did that, he needed a plan which would work, and the only place he was likely to find that was in Phillos itself. If he could just get inside the Enclave and see the situation for himself, and perhaps talk to some of the people there, he was certain a workable idea would emerge. Of course the downside of that was once he set foot in the city someone would recognise him, and if they betrayed him to the Superiors, he’d end up being burnt to death or flayed or something equally unpleasant.

  He wasn’t going to give up though, he had friends in the Enclave, and there were still those who thought he was a hero, despite his last disastrous incursion into Phillos which had cost the lives of ten good men. What he needed to do was find those who still believed in him, persuade them of the danger they were in, and hope that one of them would come up with a brilliant idea which he could later claim to be his own. That sounded simple enough, but he knew it wasn’t going to be easy.

  The way the Passonians had suppressed generation after generation of Assimusians, meant there were very few people who still had the strength and courage to stand up against the Masters. On top of that, if Silmon’s report had been correct, then those he sought may have already been taken away and would probably be dead or in no physical state to do anything. That thought made him feel sick, but helped to harden his resolve at the same time, so that when the path through the trees levelled out he heeled his horse forward into a canter.

  Collia breathed a deep sigh of relief as the steep path came to an end and they turned onto a wider, flatter path. Her relief was short lived as Tingallent’s horse broke into a canter, but at least she thought she recognised where they were and, if she was right, she wouldn’t have to follow him at this speed for too long. Once they reached the road to Phillos she could break away from him, and then she would be free to choose how fast she wanted to travel.

  The full moon wouldn’t be for another three nights, so she had just about enough time to comfortably make it through Ferringar’s forests and reach the coast. There a ship would be waiting to take her back to Kallisan and her own people. If something had happened and the ship didn’t turn up, she would be in trouble, but that was unlikely to be the case. She knew she could rely on the Elders not to leave her here, so there was no point in even thinking about what she would do if she were left on her own.

  Tingallent pulled his horse to a halt at the end of the pathway where it was still partly hidden by the trees and, using the advantage that the slight rise gave him, looked along the road from Phillos to Tarmin to see what traffic was about. Fortunately there was nothing in either direction, so this was the ideal place for Collia to go her own way and for him to ride onto Phillos on his own. He glanced over his shoulder to where Collia was approaching at a ragged trot and waited until she rode up next to him.

  “This is where our ways part. On the other side of the road you’ll find a narrow track through the trees, and if you follow that for half a day, you’ll come to the logging road. If you ride parallel with that you should be safe enough, although there might be some logging camps just off the road. You’ll hear the noise from the camps a long time before you come anywhere near them, which will give you plenty of time to leave the road and make your way through the trees instead.

  “The further north you go the less people there will be so with any luck, you should go undetected and reach the coast in two or three days. I’d escort you to your ship if I could, but I have more pressing matters to see to.”

  “What are you going to do, Tingallent?”

  He gave her half a smile. “I’m going to Phillos to save the people in the Enclave.”

  She tried not to look sceptical. “Then good luck and thank you for your help.”

  She leaned over and gave him a brief kiss on the cheek before heeling her horse forward down the gentle slope. He watched her ride away and disappear amongst the trees before he turned his horse eastwards and broke into a trot. It would have been safer to work his way through the trees, as he’d suggested to Collia, but he was in a hurry and, in any case, he was confident that he could escape from anyone who spotted him.

  *

  He’d been surprised to find how empty the roads were. Silmon had told them that every Assimusian in the seven provinces was being herded into Phillos, so he’d expected he would have to leave the road frequently to avoid the convoys being driven towards the Enclave. Instead the road was even quieter than normal, and he’d ridden several miles along the deserted road before he’d come across another soul.

  That had been an overseer from Escellos who had complained bitterly that now every Assimusian was locked up in the Enclave, he was having to load the cart himself. Not only that, but he’d been ordered to drive the cart into the Enclave to feed the Assimusian scum who should be working in his fields. He had commiserated with the man and had then ridden away as fast as he could in the opposite direction before the overseer could ask him who he was.

  Without a doubt the news was bad. If there were no Assimusians being driven along the road to Phillos and the overseers were doing the work, then his people had to already be inside the Enclave. That meant the Passonians would shortly be ready to make their move. When he’d left their camp on the Fire Mountain he knew time was running out, but the situation was more desperate than he’d anticipated.

  The urgency of the situation concentrated his mind on what he had to do. So far he hadn’t come up with any new ideas, so his plan to sneak into the Enclave and persuade the people he knew there that they were in mortal danger seemed the best course of action. Getting into the Enclave was going to be difficult, but the overseer and his cart had given him an idea which should not only get him through the gates, but back out again. It would require a disguise and a bit of play-acting, but he was good at that.

  Once he was sure that the overseer and his cart were out of sight, he rode a short way along the road to Escellos until he found what he was looking for. It was a dip in the road which would keep him hidden from any cart coming up the hill until they were almost on top of him. The position also had the advantage of being heavily wooded on both sides, so he could pick his target and prepare for their arrival without being seen.

  Confident that his plan would work, he led his horse into the trees and easily climbed a spreading oak which gave him a good view of the road. He waited for a while until two carts came up the hill one after the other, but he let them go as each had a driver and a guard and that wasn’t what he was looking for. Shortly after, a small convoy of four wagons passed by and he let them go too, cursing his bad luck.

  After that he waited and waited and had almost given up when a single wagon with just one driver came into view. From that distance he couldn’t make out what the driver looked like, but he would just have to take his chance, and if the man had a beard or some other feature by which he could be clearly recognised, then he would have to think of something else. He quickly climbed down from the tree, untied his horse and led it out onto the edge of the road.

  This was the part of the plan which he didn’t like, as his horse had served him wel
l, but he hadn’t been able to think of an alternative. Taking the horse firmly by the bridle he whispered soothing words in its ear and with the other hand quickly thrust his knife up behind its jaw slicing through the jugular. The horse screamed in shock and pain and tried to pull away, but he held it firmly by the bridle to stop it galloping away and spoiling everything.

  Unfortunately he couldn’t prevent the horse from shaking itself and sending blood flying in a wide ark across him and the road, but he would have to deal with that later. He held onto the bridle until the horse had bled out and it sank to its knees, and then he helped it onto its side so it covered the tell tale pool of blood. As the scene wouldn’t stand up to close scrutiny he would have to distract the driver of the cart but, with any luck, he would look at him and not the horse.

  The only thing left to do was break its leg, so he took the fallen branch he’d found and smashed it against the horse’s fetlock. It took two blows until the bone broke and the leg twisted at an unnatural angle. After that he threw the branch away and kicked dirt over the splatters of blood on the roadway so they wouldn’t give him away. Finally he rubbed dust down one side of his face and clothes and waited, clutching his arm beneath his cloak as if it was broken.

  He’d only just finished when the cart crested the rise and the driver brought it to a halt in front of him. Tingallent gave him a surreptitious glance and breathed a sigh of relief; the driver didn’t have a beard or a scar and was just what he was looking for.

  “What’s going on here?” the driver asked as he looked at the dead horse in the middle of the road. It didn’t look quite right to him so he scowled at the man who was clutching his arm.