“Son,” Bayzog said, releasing Sasha’s hand and drifting alongside Samaz, “what are you feeling?”
“Nothing at the moment,” he said, “but there was a tremor earlier. Gave me the bumps.”
“I’ll give you a bump,” Rerry injected.
Bayzog’s violet eyes narrowed on his younger son.
“Sorry,” Rerry said.
“Anything else?” Bayzog said to Samaz.
“No, I just hope I feel something before it’s too late.”
A brisk gust of wind slammed into them, howling.
Whistledown, north of Quintuklen, rested on the plains inside of leagues of canyons. They walked toward a mostly dry riverbed where much water had flowed not so long ago. Now there was but a tiny stream.
“How can an entire river be gone?” Samaz said. “I remember coming here as a boy.”
“The giants and dragons drank it up,” Rerry said. He picked up a smooth river stone and chucked it to the other side. “Or monstrous beavers made a dam. So, now that we’re here, what do we do, Father, start a new village?”
“We wait,” Bayzog said, looking toward the darkening skies. “Now, let’s make some shelter.”
***
“Let me see that,” Brenwar said, holding out his hand.
“A moment, if you please,” Pilpin replied. He held up to his eye a spyglass cast in iron. He peered into the valley below the canyon’s rim. “My eyes are better than yours anyway.”
“They certainly are not.”
“They certainly are too,” the feisty little dwarf replied.
Brenwar snatched it away.
“No need to be so rude,” Pilpin said.
“I gave you an order. You ignored it.” With a grunt, Brenwar surveyed the demolished town of Whistledown, and his heart sagged. It had been one of the nicest places in Nalzambor, even though it wasn’t dwarven. The people were warm and so was their food. They made fine ale too, for common folk. Now, it was a heap with little sign of life. “Truce, my behind.”
“What’s that?” Pilpin said.
“Seems you don’t hear so well, Pilpin.”
“You grumble so.”
Brenwar slapped the spyglass so that it collapsed, and then he spit through his beard, saying, “Grumbling is what dwarves do.”
“But you do it worse than most.”
He shook his head. Pilpin was a good companion, but his chronic comments became cumbersome.
“Why don’t you go check on the horses or something?” Brenwar said.
“They are fine.”
“Then go crack rocks on your head.”
“Well then!” Pilpin sauntered off.
Brenwar could still envision Whistledown with its cheery voices and smiling faces. Fishermen came from all over to wade in the wide but shallow river. Nath loved to go fishing there when he was younger. They’d walked the sandy riverbanks for weeks at a time on occasion. Now those days were gone. The knuckles on Brenwar’s fist turned white. It had all happened so fast.
Backing away from the canyon’s rim, he took a seat on a pile of rocks and unwrapped the blood-soaked bandage on his leg. He and Pilpin had fought their way through every forest, hillside, and meadow between here and Morgdon. The hidden landscape crawled with evil. He scooped up some dirt and rubbed it in the wound.
“Ah … that’ll do.”
He took the bandage, found a clean spot, and polished his breastplate. The leather bindings creaked, and he could feel a loose spot where one of the buckles was busted. A dragon’s claw had ripped through it, but Brenwar’s war hammer had dotted it in the head. He’d never seen so many dragons before, not even in Dragon Home. It left him uncomfortable. Closing his eyes, he leaned back against the rocky ledge. The canyon winds stirred his beard. Combing his fingers through it, he fell asleep.
“Ugh!” Brenwar jerked up. It was pitch black, and rainfall was soaking him. Harshly, he whispered, “Pilpin!”
No reply.
He scanned the darkness and cocked an ear.
Where is that little bearded monster?
Wiping the rain from his eyes, he had rolled up onto his knees when his instincts fired. He clutched for War Hammer—and found nothing.
“Woe is me.”
Two shadows closed in on either side of him, hemming him in. Spears pointed at his neck.
Brenwar tried to grab one of the spears by the shaft, but the steel head eased away, and the other cracked against the back of his skull.
“Fast for a dwarf,” a hollow voice said, “but slow for anything else.”
“I’ll show you slow,” Brenwar said. His knees bent, and he readied to spring.
“Even naps don’t do you well.” The cloaked figure tossed something at his feet. Thunk. “Here’s a pillow.”
War Hammer lay at his feet. Brenwar snatched it up, saying, “You’re a piece of work, pot belly.” He huffed. “I thought I was rid of you.”
Shum pulled his hood back and offered a stony smile.
“And I you, but it seems a season passed.”
Hoven, the other ranger, offered Brenwar a hand.
He took it. It was good to see them, so long as they didn’t know it was.
“Where’s that bearded runt?” Brenwar said.
“He sleeps.”
Brenwar stretched out his thick arms and yawned.
“What is with this place?”
“How long had it been since you last slept?”
Brenwar shrugged and nodded.
“So, have you gathered anything on the others?”
It had been a year. The time to meet had come. It was good to know the rangers were fine, but he wondered about Bayzog and Ben. And Nath…
“We caught wind of your horses,” Shum said, resting his hands on his stomach, “as we traveled in.”
“You walked?”
“We lost our steeds to a black-winged dragon some time ago,” Shum said.
Brenwar’s heart fell. Losing a mount, especially a Roamer steed, was contemptible. And he knew the steeds were more than the best. They were friends that would die for you.
“Sorry for the loss,” he said. “Now let me go dig Pilpin out of whatever hole he burrowed himself into.”
“And we head down then,” Shum said.
“Aye,” said Brenwar. “Aye.”
***
The dwarves claimed that the rain had washed out any signs of passersby, but the Wilder Elves’ keen eyes still picked up a trail worn in the dirt back and forth to the river. In the dark, he could feel it through his soft leather boots. Someone still prowled the area. A man, or men.
“Care to wait?” he said back to Brenwar.
“Suit yerself,” the dwarf said with his arms folded over War Hammer on his chest. “But don’t stir a fight without me, elf.”
Through the rain, Shum and Hoven slid through the dark down the path. There were plenty of dangerous creatures that lurked in the ruins these days, waiting for food to spring upon. He and his brother had the wounds to show for it.
Almost a hundred yards from the river, he came to stop. A pair of cellar doors were closed over the ground behind a ramshackle house. Shum’s nose twitched, and in the darkness he could see the warmth within. He nodded to Hoven.
His brother slid over to the doors and grabbed one of the handles.
The doors burst upward, knocking Hoven backward. Three shrouded figures emerged.
Shum’s hands felt for his hilts, but it was too late. A sword shimmered beneath his chin.
The second figure stood within the cellar and had an arrow nocked and pointed at Hoven’s chest. “Don’t budge.”
“Well done,” Hoven said.
The figure stretched the bowstring back farther and leaned closer.
“What did I say?” Ben said.
“Ben,” Shum said, “you’re among friends.” He turned his eyes down on the figure with the sword on his neck. “You’re quick. I’m impressed. I don’t believe we are acquainted.”
&nbs
p; The young part-elf’s violet eyes didn’t blink.
“It’s alright, Rerry,” Ben said. He eased the string and quivered his arrow. Clatch. Snap. Clatch. “It’s the Roamers we told you about.”
***
All parties were in the cellar now, out of the rain: the two dwarves, the three part-elves, the two Roamers, Ben, and Sasha.
Bayzog was more than pleased to see his old friends.
“It’s been months we’ve waited,” he said. He told them the entire story about what happened when he returned. How Sasha and his sons were kidnapped. How the dragonettes and the jaxite stones aided in their rescue, and about the conflict in the garden with the mysterious female Cleric of Barnabus.
“I like that last part,” Brenwar said. “’Tis good to know I’ve rubbed off on you some, heh, heh.”
Bayzog wasn’t the only one with adventures to tell.
“The woodlands are thick with enemies, and the armies of Barnabus are choking the life out of all the outer cities,” Brenwar told everyone.
“And Gorn Grattack roams,” Shum added, relaying his quest that the winged-ape Sansla Libor had given them, to find their greatest enemy. “And I believe my brother and I have caught wind of him.”
“You have?” Bayzog said. The fine hairs on his arms stood up. “And?”
“He’s near,” Shum continued. “We’ve felt the chill of him. Seen the unnatural devastation.” The Roamer elf went on in detail, telling how branches curled and grasses blackened. Forest varmints dropped dead in scores. Streams ran mixed with dark water. “East of Quintuklen, burrowed in the thickness of the forest.”
There was talk that had been spreading of black dragons seen in the sky, too. It sent chills through Bayzog.
“Yet,” he said, “Balzurth’s dragons are on the move. His word is good.”
“Aye,” Brenwar said, “dragons fight and skirmish, but this war must be fought by all the races, not just them. The elves wait too long. The dwarves burrow. Men bicker among themselves. The other brood races gather and strengthen. Lay siege on the outlying lands. The dragons’ coming should have been a grand enough sign that the war is upon us, but they’ve all dug their heels in on this false truce.”
“They must know cities still burn,” Ben said.
“They ignore it and blame it on the dragons,” Shum said.
Sasha stepped in and said, “We will have to convince them.”
“No,” Shum said, “that is not for us to do. Others already try. We need to strike at the heart of the evil and expose it.” The torches flickered in the oversized cellar, and all went quiet. “We need to assault Gorn Grattack.”
Brenwar huffed. “Madness.” He thumbed the edge of War Hammer. “But I like it.”
CHAPTER 22
Back in Narnum after two months’ absence, Selene sat on her throne, clutching her head. The incompetence of her guards was like a nasty spike into her skull.
The changeling, Gorlee, was gone, slipped right through her grasp. Worse yet, he’d managed to break into The Deep and not only regain his memories but wreak havoc while she and Nath were gone.
She reeled from the effects of it. Her control over things was slipping.
“You!” she said to one of the two guards who flanked her great doors, decorated in fine armor and carrying halberds. “Come! Stand before the dais.”
The lump in the man’s neck rolled. With a glance at the other guard, he marched over and kneeled at the dais.
She locked her fingers together and rested her chin on them.
“Show me how you use that weapon.”
Water beaded on his brow as he nodded. A moment later, the grand weapon jabbed and cut and flashed all over. He bowed again in less than a minute, lathered in sweat.
“Excellent,” she said. Then she pointed to the other guard. “Now go and kill him.”
“High Priestess?” he remarked.
Her eyes blazed, and flames erupted from her mouth, incinerating the man. The dragon fire left only the metal from his armor and weapons. Glaring at the other guard, who trembled at the door, she said, “Looks like you win. Now leave me!”
The guard vanished, and the doors locked in place behind him.
Selene walked down the steps, swatting her tail through the ashes and warped metal. She still seethed.
Gorlee had made a mess of things. Disguised as her, he’d had her top priests, acolytes, commanders, and aides taken to The Deep with orders to be fed to Bletver.
Faced with the task of explaining all this to Nath Dragon, she’d drugged him. A sleep potion, powerful as could be made, filled his belly. He would not wake up until she countered the spell. At least she hoped. All dragons had some resistance to magic, but she had been very careful. So in his room he slept, while she got Narnum back under control.
She called for her drulture. In moments, it swooped over the balcony and landed on her shoulder. She petted its head.
“Good dragon. Good dragon.”
The rebels in the streets were being found and cleared. The graffiti of Balzurth—two slashes and a circle—was all gone. The feline fury she had sent again to find Gorlee, but the changeling had vanished. It worried her. What if the fury could no longer sniff the changeling out? It could be anyone and anywhere.
Worst of all, Gorlee could warn Nath Dragon.
She needed to keep Nath close and make sure Nath wouldn’t believe what anyone else told him. That might not be so difficult. Lucky for her, he was busy brooding over the war among the dragons and doubting his father. Her seed had taken root. She’d created enough doubt to gain more of his trust. Nath was primed to make a bold move. She just had to be careful how she led him. His bold move needed to be in her favor.
She went out onto the terrace. It was a cool night, heavy in dark cloud cover. Below, the streets were empty of the citizens, now that a strict curfew was enforced at nightfall. The absence of the carousing sounds of citizens that time of night was strange, leaving her alone with the gentle howls of the wind that whipped through the towers.
“Selene …”
Her head snapped around, followed by a chill that raced down her spine.
An apparition emerged from the shadows. It had long wispy white hair, horns in its skull, and a green hue around its body. A dragon wraith, somewhat like a man, a lich, torn between the living and dead worlds. Its features were gaunt, and its scales stretched in the semblance of wrinkled leather. It stood as a man, wore robes, and had eyes that flickered with power. It pointed a crooked clawed finger at her. Its voice was a ghostly hiss.
“Gorn Grattack summons you…”
Lifting her chin, she said, “I cannot leave at this moment.”
“Now,” the ghostly lips hissed. It pulled a sword from the belt strapped around its tattered robes. Its blade was pitch black. “Now, or death.”
Selene’s lips curled back.
“Don’t threaten me, you little wraith.” She summoned her power. A ball of flame formed in her hand. “I’ll banish you with a thought, you undead courier.”
“Now,” it warned, drifting closer. The sword winked lightning. “Now, or all will be lost.”
Resisting Gorn Grattack’s wishes was a fatal thing to do, but she didn’t like how she received the invitation.
“Lead,” she said, crushing out her ball of flame.
The wraith lifted from the terrace and glided quickly up into the night sky.
Selene summoned the dragon within. Great wings sprouted from her back. She was in one of many dragon forms she could assume, a secret she held from Nath. She leapt into the air, wings flapping, catching up to the wraith in an instant.
While the pair flew hour after hour, all she could think about was what Gorn Grattack wanted with her now, in person. There were dozens of other ways they could communicate that weren’t in person.
He always wants something different than what I think he wants. Be strong, Selene. Be strong.
The wraith dropped out of the sky and spiraled toward
the ground somewhere east of Quinktuklen in the mountain ranges. Scores of dragons of all sorts were scattered along the peaks. It petrified the blood in her veins. Gorn Grattack had his forces rallied. She had none of hers.
As soon as they landed, she had to change back into human form so that the wraith could lead her into a temple entrance she’d never seen before. It was grand but had fallen into ruin, and it led deep into the mountain. The darkness chilled her robed shoulders.
Her fingertips tingled more than the last time she’d encountered Gorn Grattack. He had still been in spirit form that last time, and she wondered what form he’d taken now. Ahead, a giant-sized throne sat empty between two massive urns that sprouted blue flame.
The wraith turned to her and said, “Wait.” Then it promptly left.
It seemed she waited an eternity, but it was probably a few minutes.
“How are you, Selene?”
She twisted around.
A striking man stood before her, dark haired and dark featured, with a serpentine look about him. He stood much taller than she did, broad and lean, wearing the attire of a commoner, but a fanciful sort. His eyes had a radiant glow.
All of her blood rushed through her. She dropped to one knee.
“My Lord,” she said, bowing.
“Rise and embrace me, Daughter,” he said. His voice was as strong and steady as the rivers. “I’ve missed you.”
She did. His arms locked around her waist and held her tight. His natural strength was crushing. He let her go and brushed her cheek.
“You look marvelous, as always,” he said, “and those wings are a nice touch.” He waved his hand, and dozens of torches came to life. He led her to a table cut from purple marble and sat down in one of the chairs. “Sit. Eat if you like.” There were many tureens of different stews, and carafes of various wines. He dropped some grapes in his mouth. “I’ve been wandering among the races of late, trying to get a better feel for things. I can’t fail this time, as I did the last time.”
War In The Winds (Book 9) Page 10
