“Very well, I’m listening.” Eleanor gestured for him to continue.
The knight from Gatlan nodded. A beat later, in a smooth motion, he withdrew his sword from the scabbard. He took a step back. In one move, he kicked the knight on the left hard in the chest, sending him crashing to the floor, and his sword arm swung, decapitating the knight on the right.
Before the fallen knight could get to his feet, the sword was raised, held in both hands, and brought down on the screaming knight’s throat. It severed his vocal cords, cutting the scream short, and arterial spray leapt up, arcing in a line across the Gatlan knight’s chestplate. It dripped down, the blood flowing over the embossed seal of Gatlan.
The whole process had taken seconds.
“Oh, very good,” Eleanor congratulated him.
She oozed false sincerity to hide the surprise and stomach-churning fear, the lump in her throat making her feel sick. It had been so sudden, and while she should have expected this move, she hadn’t.
“Thank you for taking care of those knights for me. Their incompetence deserved nothing less. However, if you believe that I will fall so easily, you are in for a disappointment.”
Eleanor allowed the magic to pool in her hand, creating a fireball ready to do her bidding. Gatlan’s knight stood there, sword in hand, and smirked. Enraged, Eleanor threw the fireball at him. She had infused it with enough destruction to burn a hole right through his chestplate and his flesh beneath. He would soon have a new fist-sized hole to breathe from.
The knight raised his sword. The fireball hit it and, to Eleanor’s amazement, was reflected back at her. Instinctively, she raised her hands, deflecting her own magic just in time. The ball burnt a hole through one of the many nauseating pictures of King Augustus’s ancestors. The painting fell to the ground, cracking the frame. A chunk of the castle wall followed with a loud bang.
“My guard will be here within seconds,” Eleanor hissed.
A few seconds later, no running knights had appeared to investigate the noise. The giant bear of a knight still looked calm, unruffled, completely in control. Eleanor swallowed. No one was coming; something must have been keeping her knights from attending to her.
Eleanor had never fought anyone who hadn’t feared her. She had never met anyone who had seemingly no magic of their own but could counter hers.
“So, Gatlan has a pet sorcerer, do they?” Eleanor sneered. “Nice enchantment on the sword. A cone of silence keyed to you as well, perhaps? However, you are a fool if you believe that to be enough.”
Eleanor brought magic to both hands. The crimson-tinted flames licked upon her skin and then down in a thin line, a rope of magic the color of blood. No sword would throw this back at her. The two lines of magic extended, thickened, merged. The unified line of magic twisted and curled like a snake, like it was alive.
For the first time, the knight looked uncertain, and Eleanor smiled with cold fury. He slashed at the magic, but it wasn’t substantial; it couldn’t be cut. His sword whistled through the line of fire like it was smoke. The magic curled around him, a foot of distance between him and the line until he was surrounded, and then it slowly drew in, wrapping him in its warm embrace.
However, the knight was not to be counted out yet. The line was chest height; he dropped to the ground and rolled so that it was no longer surrounding him. He leapt forward, brandishing his sword. The arm raised, ready to strike.
With a sharp gesture, the line of magic whipped out. Still connected to Eleanor, it still heeded her commands. She could change its nature and its power. No longer insubstantial, it cut through the knight’s extended sword arm like it wasn’t even there. The knight screamed and stumbled to the ground. He clutched his ruined stump and writhed in agony at Eleanor’s feet.
Eleanor cancelled the line of magic and gasped for breath. What she had just done, wielding pure power, was not for the faint of heart. Black spots filled her vision; roaring filled her ears. Shakily, she stepped down from the throne. She kept a wary eye on the fallen knight, but he was in too much pain to even notice she was close enough to stab. He was done; he had failed in his duty and his mission.
She called upon power once more, causing the room to spin dangerously. However, she couldn’t—she wouldn’t—appear to be anything less than perfectly in control. Actions after a fight were as pivotal as actions during. She had to make everyone believe that this hadn’t affected her, that it was a minor annoyance at worst and a briefly entertaining interlude at best.
With a wave of her hand, the doors crashed open. Calling upon yet more magic, she enhanced her voice so that it bellowed throughout the castle.
“Knights, attend me,” Eleanor ordered, her anger clear.
A minute later, the first three knights arrived. Then the pounding of metal on stone could be heard as more knights rushed to their queen’s side. She could feel their fear and relished it. They should be afraid. They had all been derelict in their duty, allowing an assassin to get so close to her.
The fact that she was capable of dispatching the fool was immaterial. She shouldn’t have to; this was what she had knights for. They were supposed to win her battles for her, to protect her, so that she no longer needed to fear. What good was control and rule if it didn’t equal safety?
“Have him taken to the dungeons,” Eleanor hissed, pointing at the fallen Gatlan knight, who was still groaning on the floor at the foot of the throne. “I will flay the skin from his bones. Gatlan will pay for this insult!” Eleanor’s voice dropped lower, dripping with anger and disdain.
Her eyes finally settled on her knight commander, who skidded into the throne room behind his shaking knights. “As will all of you,” she promised, her tone thick with dire retribution.
“I want a new guard. Send all of these incompetent fools to the front,” Eleanor ordered. “Oh, and Commander,” she continued, her tone now falsely sweet. “That includes you. Have your replacement report to me after dinner. Consider yourself demoted.”
“Yes, your Majesty,” the knight commander gushed.
Eleanor swept out of the throne room and headed towards her chambers. She would have liked to have teleported herself; the flash of flames always intimidated the otherwise brave knights. However, she feared if she tried then she would pass out. Her knight commander thought that he had gotten off easy, that his incompetence would merely cost him his position and not his life. He would soon learn otherwise.
It wouldn’t be difficult to have the battle with Gatlan spill once more into the kingdom of Kaslea. Once they were within Kaslea’s border, the dragon could dispatch the lot of them. Gatlan would lose troops in a terrifying and demoralizing way, and she would rid herself of a unit of imbeciles.
For a moment, she idly spared a thought that her troops might fear the dragon, but really it didn’t matter. The worst that could result was that the war no longer breached Kaslea’s border. While it helped increase the pressure on poor beleaguered Prince Edmund, the dragon was what would lay Kaslea low and cause them to bow to her. It was a situation in which she could not fail to win, a no-lose proposition. She would have to make sure to find herself a good vantage point from which to watch the carnage.
Eleanor hated to feel fear; she hated to feel vulnerable. Today, she had felt fear, so she would visit it tenfold upon those that had caused it and those that had allowed it. She would ensure that she would never feel fear again.
They would pay. They would all pay.
*****
The snowcapped peaks, which reached up to the blue sky, practically seeming to touch the wispy white clouds, were not as far as they had seemed. Mathis had been right about that. After the demoralizing incident with the burning village, they had pressed on, going as fast as the horses were able to cope with. Anything to put more distance between them and the demonstration of their failure.
The smell of smoke, and the phantom smell of burned flesh, lingered for miles. It was in their clothes, in their hair, and far more critically in
their minds. Another village, another few dozen lives, senselessly snuffed out. Leo just wished there were a reason why, a reason he could understand.
If the dragon was a technical construct, then someone had created it and could be controlling it. That didn’t necessarily have to be the case. It could be old, forgotten technology, somehow accidently unleashed and working off a directive that no longer applied, in the name of masters who were long gone.
There was also still the possibility that the dragon was flesh and blood, a beast marking its territory. Beasts didn’t know empathy or compassion; those were human emotions. The dragon could just be like a rabid dog, needing to be put down.
At the end of the day, it made little difference. The dead were still dead, and nothing could bring them back, whether their deaths had reason or not. The dead did not care what had killed them.
Eventually, they had been forced to make camp. Then another full day of traveling, and another night under the stars. It had rained on and off during that day. For once they hadn’t minded; the rain cleansed the smell of the dead from them.
Finally, at midday, two days after the failed ritual, they reached the mountains. The forest ended several hundred yards from the foot of the mountain. Its looming shadow and rocky ground meant nothing grew closer.
“Mathis,” Leo called, causing the knight to pause before he left the tree line. “Let’s stop here. We need to decide how best to tackle this.”
“All who have gone up against the great beast have died,” Mathis repeated solemnly. He slipped down from the saddle and tied the horse to a tree. There was a tree stump nearby, and he lowered himself to sit, weariness evident in his every movement.
It was clear that Mathis believed that this was a fight that could not be won. Leo frowned. Such a belief would become a self-fulfilling prophecy, and he wasn’t going to take any man into combat who didn’t have a smidgeon of hope. That was what made you dig deeper. That was where luck sprung from. That was what made the difference between life and death.
“I know what’s happened in the past, but you’ve seen one of our weapons. You don’t have anything like that.” Leo raised his assault rifle for emphasis. “It’s going to be different this time.”
“I have no doubt your magic is powerful,” Mathis said before he shrugged. “What is it you wish to know?”
“You said the dragon made its home in a cave. What are the dimensions like? Is there only one entrance?” Leo started.
“I do not know. I have not been here, and as none have come back alive…” Mathis answered helplessly.
“Have dragons been a problem before? Are there a lot of them?” Nick asked curiously. He dismounted from his horse and leaned against a nearby tree, stretching out his legs, which ached from the unaccustomed riding. Leo and Don followed suit. They would have to go the rest of the way on foot.
“Good point.” Don clicked his fingers and grinned. “What are its weaknesses? No knight has killed this one, but I bet knights have killed dragons in the past. Where did they hit it? There has to be a sweet spot.”
A flicker of hope crossed Mathis’s face. The knight straightened, his posture no longer quite so defeated.
“There are stories, of course, but dragons are rare. They do not trouble the kingdoms often, fading into legend until one day they strike once more. All the tales speak of the blades sliding off the thick scales of the dragon’s flank. The neck—that is where the killing blow is struck, but to fight the dragon from the front would be to face its fire.” Mathis shook his head. “It is no wonder my comrades have failed, and I do not believe myself better than them.”
“We don’t need to get quite that close,” Leo mused. His mind was busy scanning over the possibilities.
They needed the element of surprise, obviously. They needed to attack from multiple directions and injure it as soon as possible. That would no doubt enrage it, but it would buy them the advantage. Above all else, they needed to keep it on the ground, if possible. If the dragon took the high ground, they were likely to be toast—literally.
“What if we make sure it’s home and then lay some explosives? Best case, we bury the beast; worst case, it should hopefully injure and disorient it enough to then take it out with a follow-up attack,” Leo suggested.
Don looked dubious. He stepped forward from the tree line. The sun was peeking over the mountaintop; he shielded his eyes with his palm and squinted before turning back and shaking his head.
“I like the plan, man, but one problem. Where’s the cave?”
Mathis stood and pointed about halfway up the mountain. A rocky outcropping could just about be seen. It wasn’t clear from their vantage point that it was a cave, let alone one with a big enough entrance for the size of the dragon they were dealing with.
“There is a path,” Mathis noted.
“I wouldn’t call that a path. More like a hike, scrambling over rocks, half climbing type deal. Seriously, knights in armor made it up there?” Don raised a disbelieving eyebrow.
Mathis nodded, but Don shook his head. No wonder they had all died; he wouldn’t have been surprised if some of them hadn’t just taken a nasty fall. Armor was heavy; he didn’t care how practiced they were in wearing it, that armor would be a liability on such treacherous terrain.
Leo’s head sank in acknowledgment. He eyeballed the mountain. They could certainly get up there, and they still had the climbing gear if they needed it to get past any tricky sections. However, whatever ‘path’ they chose was likely to be narrow, with no room to maneuver, and it was a long trip down.
They couldn’t fight up there, which did lead to a problem. If they failed to bury the dragon, then they needed to ground it. However, if they grounded it up there, then they would have to fight it up there. The cave entrance was no doubt quite large, and it would open up larger still, but they would be trapped in there. That was not a good strategy.
“If it’s mad enough, perhaps it’ll just tumble down the mountain to get to us,” Nick suggested. He gave a hollow laugh. “Yeah, I don’t believe that either.”
“We need to recon it,” Leo decided. “We can’t see enough from down here.”
“Fire doesn’t melt stone. Burying it works, if the damn thing will stay buried. It doesn’t matter how it dies. It can suffocate, or we can drop the damn mountain on it. It’s just if it breaks out,” Don summed up. “We’ll need to go up on foot.”
“Single file, we’ll be sitting ducks,” Leo said. He turned to Mathis with a serious expression. “I know it’s your kingdom, that this is your fight, but that hike in that armor is not happening. You can take it off, or you can stay with the horses.”
Mathis scowled. “I am a knight of the realm. I am—”
“Buddy,” Leo interrupted, “I know, but this isn’t a debate. You’ll slow us down.” Leo turned to Don. “I’ll take point.”
Leo set out for the mountain. Don gestured for Nick to go next; he would take the rear and watch their backs. Mathis looked rebellious, but settled back on the tree stump. He placed a hand on the hilt of his sword. He would be ready for when they returned, or if the dragon made an appearance.
One way or another, the dragon was dying today.
Chapter Twenty-One
It took two hours to slowly creep up the mountainside to the dragon’s lair.
When Leo saw the outcropping, he raised his fist, stopping the procession. Awkwardly, in the limited space, he twisted around. Loose stones crunched under his boots. He stuck as close to the mountain face as possible and tried to not look down. However, as close to the edge as they were, that was unavoidable; he could see the ground stretching down below.
“You two on this side of the cave. Stay outside; I’ll see if our friend’s home,” Leo ordered in hushed tones. The wind was fierce this far off the ground. It whistled around them, buffeting them and stealing Leo’s words, but both Don and Nick heard him.
A few moments later, Leo moved. He reached the nearest side of the cave. The
ground was fairly flat here; a sort of landing pad was in front of the cave. Using the entrance as cover, he leaned around, weapon raised and ready, but the dragon couldn’t be seen from there.
The cave was dark, the interior space vast. Leo stared into the depths, willing his eyes to adjust and see further into the gloom. There was no motion, nothing to indicate the dragon was home. Leo sucked in a deep breath; there was an earthy smell emanating from the cave. Oddly, the air felt cool and damp. He had expected more along the lines of fire and brimstone.
Cautiously, Leo crouched and sprinted across the entrance to the opposing side, where he took up the same position. Nothing moved; there was no sound in response to his action. On the other side of the entrance, Nick mirrored Leo’s position, with Don behind him. Leo signaled for them to be watchful.
With a lump in his throat, Leo stepped into the cave entrance. He tested every step before he took it. There was loose gravel here, too; the sides of the cave were a little battered where the dragon had landed and bashed the wall. His rubber soles made no sound as walked carefully forward. There was a slight scratch as the stones moved, and he all but held his breath.
With every step he took, he hoped it would be the last into the cave and not his last altogether.
Outside the cave, Nick watched as Leo was swallowed up by the darkness. For Leo’s part, he knew he was extremely visible; he tried to stick to the edges of the cave so he wasn’t completely silhouetted against the light from the entrance. However, there was no escaping his shape, a lump against the wall, and the fact that it was moving. In the dark, it was movement that indicated position more than anything else.
However, as he reached a new outcropping on the cave wall, he realized he need not have worried so much. The entrance to the cave was large, it was true, but the actual cave itself was much larger still. It opened up into a large cavern, spreading out on either side of the entrance.
Divided (#1 Divided Destiny) Page 21
