Daybreak

by Shae Ford

  CHAPTER 14

  A Care for Words

  Kael couldn’t believe it. He knew Kyleigh wasn’t pleased with him, but he’d never expected her to run off in the middle of the night. He thought they were going to talk about things, for mercy’s sake!

  Well, whatever she had planned wasn’t going to work: he was determined to find her.

  The castle was quieter than it’d been the night before, but there were still plenty of wildmen up and about. Several of them greeted him on his way to the kitchens. He could do no more than nod in reply. He was afraid if he opened his mouth to say good morning, all of his frustration would come spilling out. And he doubted if even Thanehold’s walls were strong enough to hold them in.

  At least the kitchens were empty. There was a sack tossed against one of the walls. It had a handful of goose feathers stuck to its bottom, but he didn’t mind. Kael dug through the cabinets and baskets until he found enough provisions to last him the week — pointedly ignoring the shadow that lurked in the doorway.

  He didn’t have to turn to know it was Silas: he swore he could feel the halfcat’s haughty eyes pressing upon him. “I’ll be out in a moment,” Kael said shortly.

  “Good … and what about the dragoness?” Silas purred.

  “She’s already gone.”

  “Excellent.”

  He must not have heard the edge in Kael’s voice — or he wouldn’t have thought for a moment that it was excellent. He’d turned around to say as much, but found the doorway empty.

  By the time he’d marched from the keep, Kael was entirely fed up with people disappearing. So he supposed he might’ve had it coming when Griffith dropped from a balcony and nearly scared the skin off of him.

  “Are you going on a hunt? Can I come along?”

  Kael had to stuff his heart back down his throat before he could mutter: “No, I’m not going on a hunt. I’m leaving.”

  “For good?” Griffith’s eyes went wide. “But you can’t leave — you’ve only just got here! What will I tell Baird?”

  Kael had tried rather hard to forget about Baird. He didn’t think he had the patience to sit through an episode of the beggar-bard’s ranting. “I’m sure he’ll understand. He probably doesn’t even know I’m here.”

  Griffith snorted. “Please. He knew the moment you set foot inside the castle. What’s that I hear? Is that the mighty tread of Kael the Wright? I had to put a guard outside your room just to keep him from barging in.”

  Had Kael not been so caught up in his thoughts, he might’ve laughed at Griffith’s act. He had to admit that the way he’d slung his hands about was certainly like the beggar-bard. But he didn’t have time.

  “Kyleigh’s left me. I’m afraid if I don’t find her, she’ll do herself harm. I can’t stay.”

  Griffith didn’t look the least bit concerned. “Oh, she’s always flying off to one place or another. That’s a dragon’s way: they’re solitary creatures, mostly. The wynns live scattered in caves all across their peak.” His mouth split into a wide grin. “It’s only when Gwen starts cracking skulls that they swarm together.”

  He was wrong. Kael had read Tales of Scales four times through, and he knew that dragons might’ve lived alone at first. But once they’d chosen mates, they were supposed to be inseparable. Still, he didn’t think Griffith would understand.

  “I’ll speak to Baird next time, I promise. But right now, I’ve got to get moving.”

  Before Kael had even reached the keep walls, there were three craftsmen scrambling to peel the stone back for him. It was hard to tell who they were without their paint. But he thought he might’ve recognized their smiles. They molded the stone into an archway — and winter came storming in.

  The way the wind beat him as he passed through the arch made him feel as if he was perched a mile in the sky, about to leap from a dragon’s back. It ripped around in unreliable patterns. He was bent into to it at one moment, only to stumble sideways the next.

  Griffith followed him stubbornly — one thin arm braced over his eyes like a shield. “I wish you didn’t have to go!” he shouted over the gales.

  “I wish that too,” Kael said back. A wave of snow came roaring towards them, bolstered by the wind. He turned his head away and shut his eyes as the little icy flakes lashed his skin.

  “When will you be back?”

  “I’m not sure, Griff.”

  “Well, if you’re going to leave, then you might as well take this with you.”

  Kael turned when Griffith latched onto the back of his tunic and pressed some object into his hand. It was a dragonsbane dagger — a weapon with a curved, golden blade and a hilt carved from bone. He turned it over, marveling at its weight and the little hairline swirls of red inside the blade.

  “Only wildmen are supposed to carry our sacred weapons. But the craftsmen scraped a little gold from each one and found enough to make you a dagger. Gwen would be furious if she knew,” Griffith added, pressing a finger against his mouth.

  Kael couldn’t help but smile as he tucked the dagger into his belt. “I’ll take good care of it. Maybe once I find Kyleigh, I can convince her to —”

  “Wolfstomp!”

  He turned to wave absently at a warrior perched atop the keep’s ramparts, and saw her eyes were set upon something in the distance. “What is it?”

  “I see lights! They’re coming from the other side of the Cleft. I thought it was only a storm at first.” She shook her head. “But I don’t think lightning comes in so many colors.”

  It didn’t.

  Kael forgot his task. The sack of provisions fell from his hand as he went charging for the rampart steps — Griffith latched firmly to the hem of his tunic. The stone was icy. He nearly busted his chin trying to scramble to the top. But somehow, his legs carried him to the rampart walls.

  Clouds hung thickly over the Valley, all the way to the edge of the Cleft. Kael strained his eyes beyond the snow-filled pass to the lights in the distance. He could see why the warrior had thought it was a storm: the way they flashed and burst through the clouds certainly looked like lightning. But he knew for a fact that lightning never flashed purple or red.

  And he was certain the bolts didn’t send up monstrous waves of snow behind them when they struck.

  “It’s the King’s mages,” Kael said. His lungs tightened so forcefully across the words that he could hardly get them out. “They’re blasting their way through the snow in the Cleft. They’re marching for the Valley.”

  Griffith’s mouth parted into an O beneath his band of freckles. “Do you think he’s coming to question us about the pest?”

  “I doubt it.”

  As Griffith spoke, he wound the blue marble tightly between his fingers, and his eyes went dark. “Well, he won’t hurt us. We’ve done nothing wrong.”

  It didn’t work that way. Garron the Shrewd had done nothing wrong, but the King’s beasts still ripped him to shreds. The giants, the villagers of Copperdock, the children in Harborville — even the wildmen had done nothing to deserve the horrors they’d suffered. But they’d suffered them all the same.

  And the chances of any of that changing were about the same as the sun coming out.

  Kael knew he couldn’t leave the wildmen on their own — not with Midlan barreling down upon them. Gwen had made it very clear she had no intention of fighting the King. If she clomped out to meet Crevan’s men unarmed, they’d lop off her head.

  At least with Midlan’s eyes turned on the Valley, Kyleigh would be safe. It was only the knowing she wouldn’t be blasted from the skies that gave him the strength to hold his ground. He would stay to help the wildmen — whether they wanted it or not.

  “Gwen needs to see this,” Kael said quietly. “She needs to know what she’s up against.”

  After a moment, Griffith peeled away. Kael and the warrior stood together silently, watching as the lights swelled and burst inside the clouds. Wave after wave of white sprayed up from where they struck — and he kne
w that if they could see the explosions from such a distance, they must be impossibly large.

  Midlan was making good time.

  It wasn’t long before Gwen clomped her way up the stairs behind him. “Still here, mutt? And what about the pest?”

  “Gone,” Kael managed to say.

  Gwen shrugged. “Well, as long as she isn’t here, I suppose there’s no harm in letting you stay — as long as you don’t annoy me.”

  He watched carefully when the warrior pointed to where the lights burst. But if Gwen was worried, she didn’t show it.

  “When the King arrives, we’ll tell him that the pest has moved on. That’ll be the end of it.” She twisted to look the other direction, out where the Valley stretched. All of the concern that should’ve been on her face at the sight of the King’s army suddenly appeared. “Has anyone seen my cat?”

  “He left at first light, Thane. I’m sure he was going on a hunt,” the warrior said without taking her eyes from the Cleft.

  Gwen’s frown deepened. “Yes … but he’s usually come back by now.”

  Kael didn’t see how a cat was anywhere near as important as an army. “He’ll come back on his own. Right now you ought to be getting ready for a fight — wake the village, get the warriors on their feet!” he cried at her look. “Midlan’s breathing on our doorstep, for mercy’s sake!”

  “I know what I’m doing,” Gwen said icily. She glanced over her shoulder. “Griffith? Take the mutt inside the castle. I can’t have him running around stirring up panic across the village. He’s not to set one foot outside until this business with the King is taken care of. Understood?”

  “Yes, Thane.” Griffith waved him forward. “Come on.”

  Kael went — but only because he could see the worry on Griffith’s face. The blue marble rolled between his fingers as they walked back to the castle doors. Never once did it halt its path.

  And Kael saw a tiny bit of hope.

  When they stood outside the castle doors, Griffith stopped. “Have you ever met the King?”

  “Not exactly,” Kael admitted.

  “Do you think he’s a good man?”

  A clear and resounding no was the obvious answer. As far as Kael could see, there wasn’t a single redeeming thing the King had done for the realm. He was no better than Titus — worse, actually, because it was Crevan who’d given Titus his power in the first place.

  “I may not have met the King, but I’ve met his rulers,” Kael said carefully. “And I can tell you that each and every one was impossibly cruel to his people. I can’t imagine that a good man would’ve given such an awful bunch their thrones, or let them keep their power for long.”

  Griffith was silent. He stared at the sky above the ramparts. The marble stopped at his palm, and he clamped down upon it tightly. “Well, I suppose we’ll find out in a few days.”

  “I’m not sure it’ll take them that long,” Kael said, hoping it might prod him in the right direction. He’d learned the hard way that arguing with the wildmen only made things take twice as long — and they didn’t have twice as long to wait.

  In fact, he doubted if they had even half as long.

  “You should go speak to Baird. You’re going to be stuck inside the castle anyways, so you might as well,” Griffith added, smiling heavily as he turned. “I’m sure he has all sorts of interesting things to tell you.”

  *******

  Kael put it off as long as he could. But after three hours of pacing through the castle, trying not to rip the mortar from between the stones, he finally gave in. At least if he spoke to Baird, he was very likely to have his mind put on something else — and he wasn’t disappointed.

  One of the wildmen led him to Baird’s chambers: a large, sprawling room that took up a full corner of the castle. He wasn’t surprised to find that most of the walls were filled with shelves. Granted, there weren’t very many books — and Baird’s small collection of treasures only made the shelves seem emptier. There was a whole wall of windows and a set of narrow doors between them, leading to a balcony outside.

  Perhaps the one thing he didn’t expect to find inside the chamber was a flock of birds.

  No sooner had he closed the door behind him than a dove crashed into the side of his head. It obviously hadn’t been expecting someone to come through the door. The dove beat its wings in a clumsy panic, trying desperately to get away from him. Kael finally had to duck to avoid getting bruised.

  There were nests in every conceivable place: along the shelves, atop the windowsills, inside the torch sconces. A crowd of finches had claimed the protruding row of stone above the hearth, which he didn’t think would be particularly comfortable, if there was ever a fire. The dove that’d nearly beat him senseless had a nest settled directly atop the desk — and the way its little black eyes squinted at him made Kael feel as if he was the one doing something odd.

  “Baird?” he called, almost dreading the answer.

  Feathers flew and Kael jumped when the balcony doors slammed open.

  An older man with short-cropped hair and a set of bandages wrapped over the top of his face burst through the doorway. He grinned through his beard as he waved to the chair on Kael’s left.

  “Ah, I knew I heard you enter! No other soul in the Kingdom could possibly match your steps. Come closer, young man,” he said, waving again. “I should like to greet you as a friend.”

  Kael had been expecting a clasp of the hand, or perhaps a slap on the back. Instead, he got a full-fledged embrace. He grimaced when Baird squeezed him tightly — partly because the closeness was a bit uncomfortable, but mostly because he worried for any birds that might be nesting inside his billowing fur robes.

  “They keep me company, and I keep them warm,” Baird explained when he asked. “Seed is difficult to find in the winter, but the wildmen have their ways. My friends’ little bellies glow with a fire’s warmth when fed.”

  “All right, but couldn’t you feed them just as well from the balcony?”

  “I tried that for a while,” Baird admitted. “But when one wakes to the sweet little pleas of chilly feet and frozen beaks … one’s resolve melts quickly.”

  The streaks running down his shelves weren’t likely to melt so quickly — if they melted at all. But before Kael could say as much, Baird tugged him forward.

  “Follow me, young man. We’re very nearly finished.”

  There was a little table outside, and a couple of stocky chairs. A wildwoman sat in one of them. She wore her fiery hair in a braid that draped over her shoulder. There was a quill in one of her hands and a stack of parchment pinned beneath her elbow, no doubt in an attempt to keep the pages from being swept by the wind.

  The wildwoman watched the snow swirling across the fields beneath them with eyes that were a deep, listless blue. When she saw Kael approaching, she knocked the snow out of the other chair with a swipe of her hand. “You might as well sit. This is going to take a while.”

  “Nonsense! We’re near the end.”

  “We’ve been near the end since yesterday,” she retorted with a flick of her quill.

  “Yes, well, there’s simply no guessing how long so grand a story will take. You must tell it until it’s finished. Now, where were we …?”

  Baird felt along the table until he found the balcony’s edge. He leaned over the railing and faced out at the Valley — as if he were staring pensively into the distance.

  Kael hardly glanced at him before he went back to squinting at the wildwoman. He hadn’t realized how much he’d relied on their paint to tell their faces apart. Without the unique swirls and dots adorning their features, it was like all of Thanehold had been replaced with strangers.

  But those eyes ...

  “Lydia?” he guessed.

  Her smile broke into a grin. “You remember!”

  “Of course I remember.” Kael had spent so many hours with that band of craftsmen that he didn’t think he’d ever forget them — even if it took him a moment without thei
r paint. “How have you be —?”

  “Ahem, if you please?” Baird called from the rails.

  Lydia rolled her eyes at him before she went back to the parchment.

  “I remember it was a warm summer day — a day at the height of summer, in fact,” Baird began. “It was only by the mercy of strangers that I arrived at Midlan unscathed … well, mostly unscathed. If you will remember, dear reader, I had to gouge my own eyes out in chapter twelve.

  “So how did I know it was summer, you ask? Well, because it was hot! And it wasn’t a lovely dry heat, either. No — this was that dreadful, sticky sort of heat. It was as if a dragon crouched above the fortress and panted damp clouds of breath upon our heads. Made me wish the fire would fall and be done with it, to be honest. One blistering bolt is a greater relief than a slow summer’s boil …”

  Baird rambled on, but Kael wasn’t listening.

  Something squirmed in the back of his head, maddened him with its whispers. For a moment, Thanehold disappeared: he stood aboard the fisherman’s vessel once more and his eyes watched the glowing orb grow in the sky above him. There was a flash of heat, a burst of wind —

  “Drat and blast it!” Baird cried. His brows fell over the top of his bandages as he spun around and hissed at the doors: “What happens next?”

  Kael wasn’t sure. But there were more important matters to worry about. The thing in the back of his head stabbed at him with its muffled warnings. He wished he could hear what it said.

  The vision darkened and the whispers evaporated, leaving him more frustrated than ever.

  “What is it, young man? I can hardly think with your sighs blasting through my ears like a giant’s cough,” Baird grumbled.

  His sigh hadn’t blasted anywhere. He’d barely made a sound. “Midlan’s at the Cleft. They’re marching for the Valley.”

  “Is that all?” Baird snorted before he could nod. “The rebel whisperers had Midlan on its heels towards the end of the War — and that was without a true Wright at their lead. I can only imagine what will become of the King, should he choose to meet you in battle.”