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

by Clare Smith

  Even after the screaming had stopped he kept his head covered and jumped when someone put their hand on his shoulder. When he looked up he could see it was the man who had spoken to him inside the shed. Now instead of just a loincloth he wore a shirt with blood stains on it, and had a sword in his hand.

  “Are you all right, boy?” Plink nodded, unable to speak, and the man helped him to his feet and guided him away from where the battle had taken place.

  “A boy your age doesn’t need to see that, it will give you nightmares.” The man walked him around the corner of the building and then stopped. “You did well there my young friend.”

  “You were early,” Plink stammered wishing he could stop shaking.

  “Yes, a last minute change of plan and a good thing too otherwise that big bugger would have been right on top of you and would have squashed you like a bug.”

  There was a noise behind them and the man instantly raised his sword, but it was only another escaped prisoner. This one had a blanket wrapped around his shoulders instead of a shirt and instead of a sword he carried a loaf of bread which he tore in half and handed one piece to the swordsman.

  “Sorry, Ting, there wasn’t much in the guardroom except a few loaves, a half eaten pot of stew and a small sack of oats. I’ve shared it around, but it’s not going to fill anyone’s belly.”

  Tingallent frowned; he’d hoped for more. “What about clothes and boots and weapons?”

  “There were some blankets and each guard had a change of shirt, but that’s all. We’ve found another half dozen swords and knives and a rack full of spears but only enough to arm about a third of us.”

  That changed things, he’d been banking on the guards being well supplied with extra food, weapons and clothes, but it seemed they only had what was absolutely necessary and anything over that came from somewhere else, probably delivered when the guard changed. He looked up at the sky and tried to estimate how much time they had before it started to get light.

  “What are you going to do, Ting? You know the lads are just waiting for your order to set all the others free.”

  Yes, he knew that and it’s what he wanted to do. He’d come here looking for a way to save the Enclave and by accident he’d found the army he was looking for, but the events of the last hour and the twenty dead Assimusians who had died fighting the eight guards was making him think again. His plan had been to fight their way through to the Enclave and set the people free, but he knew that wasn’t going to work.

  Todden was right, without weapons they would be cut down before they could open the gates. On top of that there would be reprisals against any survivors and their families, and probably against the families of the dead as well. The alternative was to take everyone with him back to the rebel camp, but that wouldn’t work either. There was no way they would make it out of Phillos dressed as they were and with no weapons, and even if they did, he couldn’t feed and clothe them and it would take years to find enough weapons to arm them all.

  There was only one thing for it although it grieved him to say it. “We’re not setting them free.”

  “What? You said that if we risked our lives and followed you, you would lead us to victory.”

  “I know I did, and I will lead them to victory, but for now the situation has changed.”

  “The men aren’t going to like this. They have friends and brothers in these sheds and they’re not going to be happy about leaving them to rot in this hell hole.”

  “I’m not happy about it either but just think, Dogavin. If we release a thousand unarmed, half starved, almost naked men onto the streets of Phillos, the Passonians will know about it in minutes and will call out every guard, overseer and Passonian who can hold a sword to round them up and that will include us too. What’s more they are not going to be very happy with the escaped Assimusians and even less so when they find the bloody scraps of what’s left of the eight guards we’ve killed. It is far better that they stay safely locked away until we are ready to fight back rather than dying for no good reason.”

  Dogavin looked around at the ragged and starving men who stood there clutching blankets around their thin shoulders and knew that Tingallent was right, but he couldn’t just give up, not without trying to save them. “We can’t just leave them here locked in those sheds knowing what those Passonian bastards have in store for them.”

  “The Passonians won’t do anything with them until they have burnt the Enclave down, and they won’t do that because now you have seen for yourself what the Masters’ plan, you’re going to go back to the Enclave and you’re going to convince the people that they have to fight.”

  Dogavin shook his head. “It won’t work Ting, the people won’t believe me, and even if they did they’ll be too scared to act without armed men fighting at their side or some sort of sign to show that they stand a chance of defeating the Passonians.”

  Tingallent frowned knowing what his friend said was probably true, but finding enough armed men to give the people of the Enclave a fighting chance was going to be almost impossible. However, he did have another idea. “Would you at least try and prepare your people to stand against the Masters?”

  “I suppose so but what are you going to do?”

  “I may not be able to find an army, but I can find that sign you’ve asked for.”

  “It had better be something bloody spectacular then.”

  “It will be.”

  “Then don’t let me down, Tingallent, there are too many lives at stake.”

  He didn’t say anything else but turned around and began ushering the survivors away into the darkness. Tingallent watched them leave wondering how he was going to motivate Poddorrin into coming up with some positive results instead of moping around all day long and doing nothing. The truth of the matter was that Poddorrin didn’t trust him, which meant there was nothing he could do or say which would spur the boy into action, but he thought there was someone who probably could.

  Tingallent looked down at the boy and gave him half of the loaf he still held in his hand. “What’s your name, boy?”

  “Plink.”

  “Plink?” He assumed it was short for something else. “Just Plink?”

  For a moment he thought of using the name the Pyromaster had given him but that was the name of someone else not him. “It’s just Plink.”

  “Well, Plink, I have to thank you for saving me and my friends from a nasty fate at the hands of the Passonians, and if there is ever anything which I can do for you in return you only have to ask.”

  “Thanks.” For a moment he thought about asking for more food but guessed that wasn’t what the man had meant.

  “So, what are you going to do now?”

  “Dunno, ain’t got nowhere to go.”

  “I see, well how do you fancy being a rebel, Plink?”

  He’d tried being a ship’s boy and a Pyromaster’s apprentice, neither of which had worked out that well, so being a rebel had to be better. “Yes please. What is a rebel?”

  Tingallent laughed. “A rebel is a hero who kills evil men and puts bad things right again.”

  It sounded odd to him, but what did a small boy know about these things, so when the man called Tingallent walked away, he followed closely behind.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  Rabayan’s Return

  Phillos

  Rabayan cursed under his breath, stepped back into the warehouse where he’d been hiding and, not for the first time, wondered what he was doing there. When Poddorrin had said good night to him and returned to his cave to sleep, he’d decided it was the perfect opportunity for him to leave. After all, the others who had been holding him prisoner had gone, and he was certain that Tingallent and Collia were unlikely to return. That just left the possibility that Todden might come back, but he guessed he could finish the old rebel off if he had to.

  There was the boy of course, who he’d promised to care for, but his promises had never meant that much
. Now, if Poddorrin had found the dragon’s gold or had even looked like he was going to, then it would have been a different matter and he would have stayed, but that wasn’t going to happen. Poddorrin was so fixated on bringing the dragons back to life he had no time to even think about the needs of others.

  It was Poddorrin’s selfishness and his total lack of progress that had prompted him into leaving, so he’d taken the last horse, most of the provisions and the Moonstone Blade and had ridden away. He’d only been through the forest once, and that was when he’d been the rebel’s prisoner and had been taken to their camp. He had a rough idea where that was, but as he didn’t know any of the trails and needed to avoid the rebel’s camp, he had to slowly work his way through the trees. That had taken several days, but it had given him ample time to think about what he was going to do with the rest of his life.

  In the past it would have been a simple matter of working out what outcome would be the best for him, and then how to achieve his goal with the least effort and the greatest chance of success. It was a process he’d used many times to his advantage and it had never let him down until now. The problem was that every time he tried to think about what was best for him, other people muddled his thinking.

  Firstly there was Poddorrin, who he’d thought he’d dismissed as useless and not worth bothering about, but clearly hadn’t. For some unknown reason the boy had woken a conscience within him when he’d been certain he didn’t have one. It had been his plan to sell the Moonstone Blade and use the coin to purchase a berth on a Kallisian trader, but every time he thought about it, he could imagine the look on Poddorrin’s face and he felt guilty.

  Then there were the Assimusians who really meant nothing to him, and who he’d spent most of his life persecuting on behalf of his Passonian masters. At the time he hadn’t thought about those he’d interrogated, tortured and executed as people but now, every time he closed his eyes, he could see their faces contorted with pain and terror, and hear their pleas for him to be merciful. There was nothing he could do to help the dead, of course, but perhaps he should help the living in atonement for his crimes.

  Finally there were his fellow Superiors who hadn’t actually been his friends, but had at least treated him with respect and had called him brother. In return he’d mocked them for their subservience, and had sneered at their futile attempts to be recognised as anything apart from the Master’s slaves. He’d even betrayed one or two of the more intelligent ones to the Passonians in order to protect his own position.

  If he hadn’t betrayed the best amongst them, they might have realised that once the Passonians had dealt with the Assimusian problem, the Superiors would be next on the list. He didn’t know how the Masters intended to dispose of the Superiors, but when they did it would be partly his fault. The thought of them being executed in the same manner as he had executed hundreds of Assimusians and dying in agony whilst cursing his name, made him feel sick inside.

  By the time he’d reached the road to Tarmin, he’d been so full of guilt that he wasn’t thinking straight. Without considering the consequences he’d turned his horse eastwards instead of west and had ridden all the way to Phillos before he’d realised this was the most stupid and dangerous thing he’d ever done. He couldn’t imagine what he’d hoped to achieve, riding into a place jam-packed with people who knew who he was and wanted him dead.

  The sensible thing to do would have been to turn around and have ridden as hard and as fast as he could back the way he had come. Instead he’d stopped his horse at a roadside inn, ordered a meal of bread and stew, and had then sat at his table with a pot of ale until he’d come up with this damned foolish plan. His idea for saving the Superiors relied heavily on gaining the support of those he had once mocked, and for that reason it was unlikely to work. In fact it would probably get him killed, but because of his newly found conscience he still had to try.

  Even if it didn’t work or save any lives, he would have done his best, and could then leave Assimus without feeling guilty all the time. Being free of his guilt would be good, but escaping from Assimus was the most important part of his plan. For that he needed to retrieve something he’d hidden inside the Dragon Tower, which was easy to move and of great value. If he could just get hold of it and leave again in one piece, he could find a Kallisian trader who would give him a free passage across the sea and a fortune in gold to possess it.

  He couldn’t do this on his own though, so before he could put his plan into action, he had to speak to someone he’d once known quite well who might be willing to help him. The man wasn’t actually a friend; he’d never had any of those, but they had occasionally shared a flagon of wine and had speculated about what life would be like if the Superiors were in charge and not the Passonians. That was why he was hiding in this warehouse amongst bales of cloth, crates of leather goods and other mundane items, waiting for the man to arrive.

  He’d intended to send the man a message via an Assimusian street urchin, but unusually for that time of day there were none about, so he’d used an overseer from Delmar instead. Phillos seemed to be packed with overseers, and whilst they wouldn’t usually demean themselves by carrying messages, he still wore the clothing which identified him as a Superior’s and knew how to give a command which would be instantly obeyed. Of course the overseer, who came from the provinces and hadn’t recognised him, could have thrown the message away once he was out of sight, but he didn’t think he would.

  Alternatively he could have failed to find the Superior’s small house in amongst all the other identical houses in the Superior’s section of the city, and even if he had delivered it, there was no guarantee that Superior Sillyon would come. However, the man had reported to him once and owed his position as Superior of Supply to his recommendation. The Superior had been as dim as dishwater, and he’d only recommended him to get him out from under his feet, but Sillyon didn’t know that and would probably still be beholden to him.

  There was also the possibility that Sillyon had realised his promotion had been a poisoned chalice and that had turned the man against him. After all, having to feed thousands of additional Assimusians, overseers and guards from the provinces, and find water for them all in a time of drought was a damn awful job. He could be so bitter that he might turn up with a whole squad of guards behind him.

  If that was the case, then his chances of escaping through the back door were very small, although he did have the Moonstone Blade and that would give him a considerable advantage in a fight. On the way to Phillos he’d drawn the blade and confirmed that the blood memories didn’t affect him as they had done Poddorrin. All the same he’d felt the power in the weapon, which had made him feel invincible. It was an illusion, of course, he wasn’t that good a fighter, but at least it would give him a chance.

  Now that he’d started to think about the blade and how he felt when he held it, his hand itched to hold it again and he’d almost pulled it free when a noise from the door of the warehouse distracted him. He stepped further back into the shadows and watched as the door opened a fraction and a man slipped inside. For a moment there was just darkness and the sound of metal scraping against metal, and then the front of the warehouse lit up like daylight almost blinding him.

  “Are you there, Rabayan?” the small man shouted as he held his lantern high above his head.

  Rabayan cursed. Sillyon hadn’t changed one bit; he still had the intelligence of a goat. At least he’d come alone, although that didn’t mean there wasn’t a hundred guards standing outside the warehouse door. For a moment he thought about keeping quiet, but he’d asked the man to come here alone and trust had to start somewhere, so he stepped out of the shadows.

  “I’m here, Superior Sillyon and thank you for coming.”

  Sillyon hurried forwards until he stood in front of Rabayan, and then looked him up and down with a frown on his face. Rabayan had always been a tall, well built man with hard features and calculating eyes, but now he looked different, although he c
ouldn’t put his finger on what had changed. He supposed that consorting with rebels and having a price on your head would make you look strange.

  “Rabayan, it’s good to see you again. You know things were very difficult for the Superiors after what you did, but now you’ve come to submit yourself to the Passonian’s mercy I’m sure everything will get better again.”

  “I haven’t come to give myself in.”

  Sillyon looked shocked. “But your note said…”

  “I lied,” interrupted Rabayan. “If I told you that I needed your help or that I wanted to warn you against the Passonian’s duplicity, you would have come here with a troop of guards behind you.”

  Sillyon glanced guiltily at the door and then back again. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Of course you do. I was a Superior once and I would have done just the same if it earned me a pat on the back from the Passonians for bringing in a wanted man. However, things have changed and for old time’s sake I’ve come to give you a warning.”

  Old time’s sake didn’t mean much to him, but he supposed he owed Rabayan something even if it was only to listen to him before he called his men in from outside. He sat heavily on a bale of cloth and put his lantern down on the ground. “What do you want from me, Rabayan?”

  “I need your help to get inside the Dragon Tower to collect something I left there and then to get away again.”

  “There’s none of your belongings in the tower any more. It’s been taken over by a mad man and his menagerie, and anything which belonged to you has been destroyed.”

  “This will still be there and it’s important that I retrieve it, so will you help me?”