At last an elbow strike opened a gash on the head of the man on the bottom. Instinctively he rolled over, trying to protect his face, and the fighter on top quickly transitioned into a choke. The man on bottom struggled in vain, but the man on top wouldn’t be shaken off. Inevitably the choke sapped the fighter’s strength and his resistance became futile. Spector watched in fascination to see how far the fighters would go in their contest. The man on top looked over at the queen, as the crowd cheered the victor. Havina leaned forward and raised her thumb. Immediately the fighter choking his opponent relinquished the hold and moved away from the other man. A few of the defeated fighter’s friends hurried forward and pulled him out of the ring, making way for the next battle.
Spector could tell the violence fascinated the queen. She had seemed bored with the details of her army, and had only picked at her food, but as the next pair of soldiers squared off she leaned forward expectantly. The next pair were armed with daggers and small round shields. There was no art to their movements and Spector, who had been a trained knife fighter in his previous life, could see that the soldiers had no real training with the weapons. They stayed just out of reach, feinting and jumping close to slash at their opponent before jumping away again. The crowd called out their encouragement and the queen seemed breathless as she waited for one of the fighters to draw first blood. Eventually, one of the fighters got clumsy and received a slash across his shoulder. The wound wasn’t serious, but the crowd cheered and the queen, who was only a few feet away from Spector, gasped audibly. Her hands gripped the arms of her throne and she leaned forward as the fighting grew more intense.
The wounded fighter redoubled his efforts, driving his opponent back and eventually managing to catch the other man with the tip of his blade. The knife sliced a shallow cut along the fighter’s forearm, but almost at the same moment he countered with an overhand strike with the small shield. The shields were metal, Spector guessed they were bronze from the color, and appeared to be heavy. The edge of the shield smashed into the side of the first fighter’s face. Blood seemed to erupt from the fighter’s wound. His cheek was gashed open and several teeth were knocked out. Spector heard Havina gasp and he could feel the excitement pouring out of her. She loved violence, loved seeing the men scratching and clawing for supremacy, and the fact that she held their lives in her hands.
The wounded man fell back. The shock of the blow seemed to rob him of his senses for a moment and his opponent took full advantage. A hard thrust at the man’s chest would have killed him, but instead the other fighter kicked the wounded man in the groin. With blood pouring from the wound in his face the man toppled over and his opponent kicked the dagger from the fallen man’s hand. Half the crowd was cheering the fight, but at least half were casting nervous glances at their queen. Spector could tell the soldiers didn’t want to see the wounded man die, but that decision was up to Havina and the wraith could tell the self-proclaimed ruler desperately wanted to see men die.
The winning fighter pulled the wounded man to his knees and leveled a dagger under his fallen opponent’s bloody chin, then he looked to his queen. With a wild look in her eyes she turned her thumb down and all the cheering stopped. The soldiers looked at Havina with measured hostility. Spector wondered for a moment if they would defy her, perhaps even revolt. But almost at the same moment a massive roar rent the air above them and the sky was filled with fire. The soldiers cowered and Spector slipped back into the deep shadows behind the throne.
“Kill him!” screamed the queen.
The winning fighter hesitated only for a moment, then sliced his opponent’s throat.
“Yes!” Havina said as she sat back on her throne, panting.
The fighter let the fallen man collapse into the dirt that was quickly turning to mud from the unfortunate fighter’s lifeblood. He moved away from the body and there was a moment of tension, then a huge black dragon dropped from the sky into the circle of torchlight. The fire glinted off of black scales and the huge creature looked balefully at Spector for a long moment. No one moved or made a sound. Spector felt terror nearly overtake him. He was a wraith whose only goal was revenge, but the sight of the huge creature staring at him made him feel weak with fright. He had fought armed men, their weapons powerless to stop his ethereal body, yet something about the dragon terrified the ghostly figure.
“Go,” said the queen softly, and Spector realized the creature wasn’t looking at him, but at Havina.
With a roar the dragon jumped into the air and flew away into the darkness, but not before snatching up the body of the fallen soldier. Havina smoothed the silky material of her dress and smiled as if she knew a secret that none of the rest of them understood. Then she casually waved her hand for the next fight to begin.
The next two fighters were large brutes who had been given wooden staves. They fought savagely, each landing hard blows that would have knocked most men unconscious or worse. Their fight was long and both men were bleeding and exhausted by the time they finished. Eventually, one of the fighters fell and the winner dropped to his knees on his opponent’s back. When the man raised his bloody head to look at Havina she smiled and raised her thumb. Both fighters had to be helped from the arena as the final two fighters took up their weapons. One had a curved saber and large shield. The other man had a flail, a large spiked ball that hung from a chain which was attached to a three-foot wooden handle.
The men squared off and began to circle one another. The man with the flail swung the heavy spiked ball at the end of his weapon around and around, sometimes on his right side and sometimes on his left. The weapon seemed almost graceful as it swung through the air. Finally the man with the flail attacked, swinging the weapon up in a high, overhead arc that crashed down hard on the other man’s shield. Spector heard the warrior grunt from the impact of the weapon on his shield but then he countered, slashing his saber at his opponent. The man jumped back, jerking the flail, the spikes of which had stuck fast in the wooden shield. The weapon tore free, but not before pulling the man with the shield off balance. The man with the flail spun around, letting his weapon swing wide as he turned back toward his opponent. Once again the man with the saber tried to block the flail with his shield, but he misjudged the weapon. The flail chain struck the shield but the ball swung wide and wrapped around the edge of the shield. When the fighter with the flail jerked back on his weapon it tore the shield from the warrior’s arm and nearly knocked the man down.
Both men needed a moment to recover and attack. The warrior got his bearing first and dashed forward, slashing with his saber at the fighter’s head. The man with the flail dodged back and tried to counter but his weapon was off balance and though he tried to swing the weapon at his opponent he had no momentum. Instead of swinging around at the end of the chain and smashing into the warrior with the curved saber, the spiked ball went up and then came back down and hit the user in his arm. There was no real power in the failed attack, but the metal ball was heavy and the spikes gouged the user’s arm, tearing the skin and causing him to stumble back.
The warrior with the saber wasted no time attacking. He rushed forward, slashing at his foe, who retreated hastily. He tried to swing the flail but his opponent kept pressing forward, robbing the fighter of the precious time he needed to get his clumsy weapon back under control. The end of the fight came suddenly when the warrior slashed at the fighter’s side, opening a deep gash just above the fighter’s hip. He fell with a scream that silenced the crowd. A shout of pain was shocking, but the scream of agony from a mortally wounded man could turn even a warrior’s blood cold. Spector was unfazed, but Havina was excited. She was on her feet, leaning out over the edge of her podium. Her hand stretched out and her thumb wavered, going up and down in little feints that fooled no one. Spector knew that it didn’t matter what she chose, the saber had cut too deeply into the fighter’s gut. He would die soon either from blood loss or a more merciful end to the duel.
“Kill him!” Havina shout
ed, jabbing her thumb down in a sharp movement.
The warrior chopped down with his saber onto the fallen fighter’s neck. The blade stuck fast in the man’s spine, but the blow had ended the fighter’s suffering. Havina fell back into her throne and drank a long drink of wine from the silver goblet at her side. A servant appeared and helped the queen back to her tent. Spector watched it all from the shadows, wondering if it was the wine or the spectacle that had affected Havina so strongly.
The warriors returned to their tents and the slain fighter was left in the middle of the battleground. Spector watched for several minutes as the night closed in. Some of the torches sputtered and went out, and the stars seemed so far away that darkness ruled over the camp. The wraith could have gone to the queen’s tent, but something held him in place at the platform. He hovered around the throne, waiting on the dragon to return.
An hour passed, and then another. The night was quieter and more still than Spector thought possible. He wondered if a strange spell had fallen over the army, but he felt no stirring in the dark magic inside him. Then came the unmistakable flump, flump, flump of dragon wings. Spector looked up but couldn’t see the beast, only a shadow blotting out the stars, until the dragon landed in the center of the deserted arena. The flickering light of a few torches showed the huge beast, its head swinging from side to side sensing for danger, before bending down and snatching up the dead body of the fighter. The sound of bones crunching in the beast’s mouth was loud and disturbing.
Spector threw caution to the wind and drifted out of the shadows toward the dragon. The huge head swiveled instantly, and the beast’s yellow eyes narrowed as the wraith approached. Spector stopped while still several feet away, observing the dragon, who had stopped eating with half of the fighter’s body still in its mouth. Blood and flesh clung to the dragon’s teeth, making the monster even more menacing.
“Why are you here?” Spector asked. “Why serve this pathetic woman?”
The dragon growled as if to say beware.
“Are you bound to her?”
Spector drifted close enough to feel the heat radiating from the dragon’s body. The wraith’s dark eyes peering deeply into the dragon’s.
“Are you—”
Spector didn’t get a chance to finish his question. The dragon moved faster than Spector thought possible. The wraith turned, attempting to dodge the dragon, turning his ghostly body in midair to avoid the gaping maw, but he wasn’t fast enough. The dragon’s jaws snapped down on the smoky body with a crack, but there was no pain, no damage to the wraith. The dark magic flowed through and around the dragon’s mouth and reformed below the ghostly head and shoulders.
For several minutes the dragon tried in vain to eat Spector. When the wraith drifted up, the dragon reared on powerful hind legs and continued snapping at him, but each time the ethereal body gave way to the dragon’s bite. Spector knew he could draw his knives and attack, but he saw no point in the exercise. His ghostly touch had felt the thick scales on the dragon’s hide. In time he might be able to pry one loose enough to slide his blade into the thick muscle underneath, but the knives would do little damage and Spector wasn’t there to kill the dragon. He needed to learn its secrets.
After a while he drifted away from the dragon, who made no move to follow. The huge beast curled up and slept in the arena while Spector glided to the queen’s tent. There were several servants sleeping on straw mats near the entrance. The wraith slipped easily through the canvas flaps and into the tent, before drifting over the sleeping bodies. He noticed they were all women; no men were allowed in the queen’s inner sanctum. There were piles of cushions and pillows, and an even more lavish throne than the one that had been set up on the platform outside. There were several chests of clothes, and several dresses had been hung up to ease the wrinkles from the fabric and to give the queen her choice of garments when she rose the next day.
The back side of the tent was partitioned off and Spector glided into the enclosure. A wide bed had been set up and the queen slept beneath silk sheets. Nothing about the sleep chamber seemed out of place, except for the fact that the queen slept with her golden crown clutched to her chest. The crown was little more than a narrow band of gold, and while Spector recognized that the crown was worth a great deal, he couldn’t understand why the queen seemed so careful with it. Drifting over until he hovered directly over the queen’s bed, Spector examined the crown. It was finely made, the edges were smooth, and the shape was a perfect circle, yet nothing about the crown seemed special.
Nearly an hour passed while Spector searched for a clue to the bond between Havina and the dragon. He had gone through every article in the room and was still no closer to solving the mystery of why the dragon served the human woman. When Havina rolled over in her sleep Spector returned to the bed. This time he could see the inside of the crown and noticed an engraving. One word was clearly imprinted on the gold band: Bartoom. Spector wasn’t sure if that was the name of the craftsman or a word from another language. Perhaps, he considered, the word meant king or queen, or maybe it was the family name of a line of rulers. He was puzzled by the mystery until the sun started to rise. He was just about to retreat back up into the sky, to be roasted by the relentless sun in hopes that something might give him a spark of understanding.
Before he could leave the sleep chamber, the queen woke up. She quickly placed the crown upon her head and spoke in a whisper.
“Wake the camp,” she said.
Spector had drifted into a corner. It was still very dark inside the tent and he had no fear of being seen, but the dragon’s resounding roar startled him just the same. And suddenly the truth became clear. The queen was controlling the dragon. Something gave her power over the beast.
She pulled her hair through the golden circlet and adjusted it on her head. Then she stood and stretched, pulling a robe around her narrow shoulders.
“Fly, but stay close.”
Spector heard the flapping of the dragon’s wings. Soon the sounds of servants hurrying about their tasks could be heard inside and outside the tent. Spector had to slip away as a woman came into the sleep chamber with a silver brush and ivory comb. Escaping the tent, Spector rose up into the air to meet the dragon. The sky was still a dark purple, with only a few streaks of red in the east. Spector kept his distance from the huge beast, but he knew he had to test his theory. If he was right, Bartoom wasn’t the name of a craftsman or a mysterious word from a forgotten language—it was the name of the dragon.
“Bartoom,” Spector said in a loud voice.
He was high enough that he didn’t expect the sound of his voice to carry to the ground, but the dragon’s keen ears heard him clearly enough. The beast spun in the air and raced toward the wraith.
“Yes, that is your name,” Spector crowed.
Fire came billowing from the dragon’s maw and for an instant Spector felt a cold knot of fear, but the flames blew through his body like a strong wind, spreading the dark magic, but not harming the ghostly figure. Everything made sense to him. The crown was the key to controlling the dragon and the dragon was the queen’s key to controlling her army. They were terrified of the dragon and rightly so. She had fed two of their number to the frightful beast and if they challenged her she had only to call out and the dragon would rush to defend her.
Bartoom roared, trying to attack Spector, but it was a useless gesture. He was nothing but magic and smoke. He could draw his knives and slay men, but only when Lorik gave him permission. The wraith was bound to Lorik and now he had the knowledge that his friend needed to defeat the queen. Spector raced away as the sky began to lighten, leaving the army and the furious dragon behind.
Chapter 22
Even from a distance Quinn looked angry. Zollin had seen his father’s fury only a handful of times, but it was never pretty. At first, Zollin thought that Quinn was confronting Branock but as Zollin approached Quinn turned his withering glare on his son.
“Zollin, I can’t bel
ieve you would dare show your face here,” Branock said. “You murder our king and then think you will be welcomed in?”
“I didn’t murder anyone,” Zollin said.
The guards had slowed but were still advancing. Zollin had to raise a wall of fire to make them stop. The magic flowed out of him in a raging torrent that sent a billowing wall of fire rushing toward the soldiers but the young wizard stopped the spell before it reached the men who fell back but stayed on the roof.
“You shouldn’t have come back,” Branock said with look of satisfaction. “I will not let you slip through my fingers again, boy.”
“You’re behind all this, Branock. I may be the only who knows how evil you are, but soon everyone will know.”
“Don’t turn your anger on me; that is so childish. You’ve been playing at games you know nothing about. But now you must pay the bill, my young friend. If only you’d let me help you, we could have been a powerful team, you and I.”
“I want nothing to do with you, Branock. You’re evil to the core and it is time that someone stopped you.”
“You are welcome to try,” the elder wizard said. “But I warn you, fighting me would be a mistake.”
Branock began walking away from Zollin, moving toward the battlements and forcing Zollin to circle around by the watchtower foundations. He could feel Branock gathering his strength. The elder wizard seemed to be drawing magic out of the air around him. When he was close to the railing Zollin attacked, sending an invisible wave of magical power that should have sent the elder wizard flying off the rooftop. Instead Zollin’s attack broke, like water around a boulder in a stream.
Quick as a bolt of lightning Branock countered, using his magic to rain fire down on Zollin like a horrific nightmare. Zollin raised his magical shield up over his head and for one instant was distracted by the looks of horror on the faces of the soldiers. When Zollin’s attention snapped back to Branock it was almost too late. A tiny beam of concentrated light shot across the distance between the wizards and would have burned a hole through Zollin, but the young wizard dove out of the way. The light beam burned into the tower foundation, vaporizing the stone in a line along the edge of the huge stone blocks.
Chaos Reigning: The Five Kingdoms Book 10 Page 16
