Whill shook his head. “I have, it seems, though I do not know the words.”
Queen Araveal did not hide her concern. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Allow me to see Avriel,” he answered with a grin.
The queen laughed. “Of course. Thank you once again.”
Whill bowed to the queen and the bow was returned. Avriel had sat up but was still being checked by the many healers. Her elven body had been kept from wasting away by their constant vigilance. Still, blue tendrils surrounded her as the healers extended their consciousness out through the energy ribbons. After a time they were satisfied that she was well.
“Yes, yes, I feel fine, spend your energies on…” She meant to say the dragon’s name, Whill knew, and he watched as her eyes wondered and she looked to be remembering something. “Her mother had intended the name Zorriaz,” said Avriel as she reached from her bed to touch the body that had contained her. The body of Zorriaz the White, daughter of Kyrayn, daughter of Knorr, daughter of a thousand dragons before her.
“Zorriaz is her name. Zorriaz,” she said to no one as she leaned closer and stroked what had once been her snout. The body of the dragon breathed slowly and steadily, and the heart kept a constant rhythm. But there was no spirit within, no soul for the vessel to serve, and so it slept. Without the effort of the healers, it would remain motionless until it died of starvation.
“I am sorry, Zorriaz,” Avriel said. “I am sorry that you were forced out of your body to save someone who tried to die. I would see the return of your dragon soul. I would see you live and fly high as a dragon can fly.” Her elven tears fell upon dragon claw.
The inner glow that illuminated the house of healing wavered and pulsed randomly. The wind once again stirred the thin silken curtains, and many elves looked around apprehensively. Whill had just performed a spell no one had ever seen, and there was palpable tension in the air.
Zerafin looked around. “The house of healing remains rich with psychic and spiritual residue. The energy of the magic performed hangs in the air like humid summer dew. Look with your mind-sight, Whill.”
He did, and he saw what Zerafin had meant. Magical residue swirled in clouds of sparkling light all around the house of healing. But Whill did not understand the concern he had heard in Zerafin’s voice. Surely such spells let off residue.
They do, said Avriel’s voice in Whill’s head. But the wielder of such spells is supposed to take back the leftover magic. You, it seems, did not.
Is that bad? Whill asked.
It can have some…interesting results.
Why didn’t someone, I don’t know, absorb my leftover magic?
Avriel looked from the surrounding magical discharge to Whill. Because that power is from the blade Adromida, and none would dare take it ungiven, for the legends say it means death to any elf who would attempt to wield it.
Apparently Zerafin was privy to Avriel’s side of the conversation, for he turned to Whill with a pensive look. “You should absorb the leftover energy. Your spell is still alive in this place.”
Avriel looked around with renewed wonder. “The very spell that helped me back to my body…”
“No, sister. These things are not to be meddled with,” warned Zerafin, and Whill began to understand. Avriel meant to summon the lost dragon soul, Zorriaz, or somehow already was.
“You may return now,” Avriel said to the high, ascending folds of fabric that were the ceiling.
“Avriel! This is not something to be toyed with!” Zerafin yelled.
The wind had picked up, and the air, thick with buzzing energy, became suffocating. Whill reached out with his mind and found resistance, but then Avriel let down her shield for him. When he made contact with her mind, he heard a constant chanting in a dozen Avriel voices. Whill realized she was chanting a spell, a big spell.
Avriel glared at her brother as he took their mother by the shoulders and backed up with her as if protect her. The queen shoved off from her son’s guidance and stepped forward purposefully.
“The laws of the elves of the sun forbid this form of Orna Catorna. Stop at once.”
Avriel smiled to her mother and spoke a word. “Zorriaz.”
With his mind-sight Whill watched as the swirling magical residue converged upon itself. Electric humming and snapping emanated from the quickly forming dense orb of power. The energy swirled into a speck no larger than a coin and suddenly shot forth blinding light. Everyone who had been watching with their mind-sight reeled back as if their eyes had been scorched. Whill held his head in pain and forced himself to look once more. All sound ceased, not a thing stirred within the house of healing, and all watched as a shimmering dragon soul drifted into the body of the dragon.
There was an explosion of sound and action as the dragon soul returned home. The white dragon Zorriaz lurched to life, spewing flame that engulfed two stunned healers.
Chapter 28
The Assassin
Late into the afternoon the townspeople scrambled to prepare for the expected attack. Water was pumped from the wells constantly as every bucket that could be found was filled and either stored away at strategic locations or used to wet the many thatch roofs. Lord Carlsborough had ordered every harpoon to the castle walls, though Dirk thought they would be of little use against the enchantments Krentz had surely laid upon her mount.
He guessed that Krentz would use the same stealth she had shown in Bristle. If so, there was little to worry from the dragon mount unless she called to it for help. If she was alerted to the village’s anticipation of her attack, she would use the dragon to cause chaos. Therefore, Dirk’s plan was for the town’s preparedness to be as inconspicuous as possible. If he could lure Krentz into the keep after her targets, his plan might work.
Dirk reminded himself that he was here for Krentz, after all; he couldn’t give a damn about the village. If she had not sacrificed herself for him, he would be the one to fear tonight.
The day passed and the village was prepared as well as possible. The women and children were brought to the subterranean chambers of the keep; there they would not suffer the wrath of the dragon at least. These chambers had been built for this very thing, and had been needed at times throughout the centuries. As much as Dirk loathed the idea of being trapped in the catacombs of the castle, he knew he might very well have to make a final stand there.
As twilight began to mark the end of the day, Dirk walked the parapet of Castle Carlsborough. He gazed down on the castle, memorizing its layout. He needed every advantage he could get.
The castle sat high atop the largest hill, overlooking the distant lakes. The rolling hills on which the village was settled shared the same magnificent view. From this high perch Dirk still could not see the other side of the lakes before the horizon; they were two of the largest in all of Agora.
Dirk took note of the high outer wall of the castle, and the still-higher inner wall. Many of the massive barbarian stones had been used in the making of these walls, and though this was not a large castle, its walls were made of huge solid slabs. It could withstand the bombardment of heavy siege weapons easily. A dragon could hurl itself against this ancient keep, which looked as though it grew out of the hill.
Though there was no moat, there was a steep incline to reach the level castle landing. Boulders had been tethered against the side of the walls by many chains, boulders that could flatten a shed. When set loose, the stones could flatten enemy soldiers storming the castle from all sides. In a ring around the castle hill, under the well-kept grass, were thousands of pointed metal spears. Levers in the castle set in motion a chain reaction of gears and pulleys, causing the spikes to rotate on their hidden platform and stick out straight. The trap was tested monthly and kept well oiled. But all of these things would not stop a shadow, could not keep away one coming from the sky. The dragon harpoons would be enough to deter a normal dragon, assuming he was not out for revenge. But Krentz’s mount would be a gift from her father. Lik
ely it would be one of his own creation, and powerful.
Dirk made his rounds and attached an explosive dart to the tip of every harpoon spear. He had given the spearmen code names consisting of colors. On his command, the different harpoons would be shot off. The captain of the guard had personally ordered his men to obey Dirk’s command, though Dirk knew it begrudged him to do so. If the men obeyed his orders and did not misfire in a fit of dragon fear, they might at least be able to turn away the dragon. Dirk was not concerned; he cared only for facing the rider.
The sun set slowly and time ticked in Dirk’s mind like the lamenting church bells of Bellowsblood, the village of his youth, where fall seemed the only season and pumpkins the only crop. The village had been the birthplace of Stefayn Bellowsblood, one of the most celebrated lore masters of Eldalon. His monster and ghost lore had become the staple of Agoran superstition centuries past. The village had become a testament to the man, and survived mainly by selling Bellowsblood mojo dolls, Bellowsblood boards of conjuring, and other namesake items. Many believed the items worked, and they were often used in medicine.
The night arrived and they waited. The men below in the village, the many teams of spearmen ready to spring from under heavy tarps, the bowmen behind the murder holes, and the swordsmen waiting in the courtyard below and beyond the doors of the keep—they all knew fear. Dirk wondered what kind of pandemonium he would witness this night. From his pouch he took the wolf figurine. He had warned the soldiers that a timber wolf fought with him, but he doubted they had believed him.
“Chief,” he whispered. “Come.”
The swirling mist set the ramparts aglow as Chief came to form in a few heartbeats. Instantly Chief became curious of their environment. He sniffed at the edge of the castle wall and panted with exhilaration.
“The time has come, boy. As we speak, she rides on wings of death. Harbinger of death…”
Chief cocked his head to the side as Dirk trailed off and his eyes drifted to the stars. A hushed bark snapped him from his dark imaginations and he saw the world once more.
Through his hood the nighttime veil was lifted, and the world was shown to him. Little was unseen. His body tensed as he spotted a bright heat signature far off to the south. From his perch he gave a small howl. Chief stared at him, seemingly unimpressed, and gave a strong, keening howl himself. It was the warning signal: the assassin had arrived. Krentz was coming for the blood of Whill’s line.
Dirk watched as the creature flew steadily toward the town. As it neared, it became apparent that it was indeed a dragon. He looked from under his hood and saw nothing—it was invisible. Dirk knew then that the beast was indeed one of Eadon’s silverhawk dragons, and its rider was Krentz.
The dragon-hawk glided over the town without as much as a sound. Over the hill it went, and once over the castle, a figure leapt from the beast. It twirled, falling some thirty feet and landing without a whisper.
Dirk watched on high as the crouched figure listened in the shadows, its armored head scanning the perimeter. Dirk had ordered three guards to stay at their stations for the duration of the night. He knew that these men would die, but it had to look as though everything were normal lest Krentz think her element of surprise gone, at which time she would turn to the brutal destructive force of the dragon.
A blade whizzed through the air, and with a thud one of the guards gurgled to the floor. Three quick, well-placed leaps took the dark-elf assassin up to the castle wall. The nearest guard found a sword through his chest and fell with a puzzled look on his face. The third jumped over the wall.
Dirk reached into his pocket for a spell-dissipating throwing star and looked away for but a second. When he looked back toward the assassin, he found her three feet away. A blade came down as Dirk’s dagger shot out and up. A clawed hand shot out at Dirk and there was a flash of silver light. Dirk quickly turned into his warded cloak’s thick folds and rolled away, deflecting the spell. He came around suddenly with a lunging strike with his short sword. Metal clanged and sparks flew as the blades crashed into each other’s enchantments.
The lithe form of the dark-elf assassin moved as a ghost. Dirk could barely make out a full-faced helmet behind the shadows that seemed to cling to it. Dirk threw a dart as he spun and came in with a dagger slash but had to move away quickly as the dark elf unleashed a powerful blast that shook the stone. Nearby a dragon screeched, and Dirk heard a spearman give warning.
“Dragon!” he screamed, and fire split the night off near the eastern wall.
Dirk was blasted off the wall to land in the courtyard. He came up out of the roll and climbed stairs to the upper wall three at a time. “Red team and yellow, purple then blue—fire!” Dirk screamed, and to his surprise the spearmen followed his command to the letter.
Red team, which consisted of two harpoon teams, shot from two locations toward the belching flame. Boom! A blast shook the castle as the first of the darts exploded against the dragon’s protective enchantments. Boom! Another lit the sky. Two quick, buzzing shrieks rang out as yellow team shot their harpoons. One dart missed but the other exploded in a shower of shimmering blue dust. The dragon lurched and slammed into the castle as Dirk ran toward the beast. Behind him the dark elf charged, flinging deadly daggers at the spearmen. A thud marked the death of one soldier of blue team. Dirk leapt high up and off a short wall. Spinning in the air, he threw two explosive darts at Krentz and threw his grappling hook as he leapt out over the courtyard. The hook caught and wedged in a crack in the stone, and Dirk glided to the opposite end of the courtyard.
There was a shriek as the awkwardly flying, convulsing dragon wavered as if injured by the blasts. The guards began to cheer, but soon the cheers ended as fire poured up and above the side of the wall in waves. The dragon beat its massive wings and once again gained a high position over the courtyard. Purple team and blue team fired in unison, and Dirk closed his eyes as the flash bomb went off, followed by the darts of silence. The dragon was blinded and suddenly hovered in a soundless vacuum. The dragon lurched, disoriented, as Chief leapt from the wall with a growl and, landing on its snout, began to claw and bite savagely. As the dragon and spirit wolf battled out of sight, the dark elf leapt down to face Dirk, who stood in the shadows by the keep door.
“Krentz, there is a way to overcome this, you must not do this!” Dirk cried.
The graceful dark elf slid her sword into a sheath as smooth and black as her tight armor. No cloak trailed behind, no coat hung from her shoulders. The armor appeared seamless; smooth and dark, it contoured the body perfectly, every muscle and curve carved into it.
“Beyond this door lies your quarry, women, children…I know what you did in Bristle, I saw the mother, the daughter, the black rose. Please—”
Dirk was forced to duck behind the stone archway before the keep door as three throwing stars cut into the stone. Dirk threw a blinding dart at the assassin’s feet and came in with a barrage of sword and dagger strikes that pushed his opponent to defend or die. Serpents of blue flame shot out at Dirk but were absorbed by his cloak. He felt the hum of power as his many enchantments were strengthened by the energy. Sparks flew from his blades as the dark elf met him blow for blow.
The dark elf stepped back, and from her left hand shot crackling lightning. Dirk pulled his cloak around him but it did not spare him the brunt of the blast, which sent him hurling through the air to slam into the wall once more.
Dirk rebounded quickly and came in low. From a leg strap he flung a dart at a pillar to the left of the dark elf. The dart hit and there was a click as the back of the dart exploded and ten smooth, round steel pellets shot toward the dark elf while Dirk came in with a low sword swipe. The missiles deflected in a shower of sparks against her energy shield as the dark elf met Dirk’s blade and with blinding speed caught him with a kick to the ribs that took him off his feet. He slammed into a pillar with crushing force and slid to the floor. The dark elf turned from him, conjured a green fireball in her palm, and hurle
d it at the keep door. Surprised screams of pain came from the burning wreckage as smoke billowed out of the keep door.
Out charged the captain of the guard and a dozen soldiers. The men screamed and charged the dark elf bravely. The assassin flung her hand out wide and every last man was slammed back against the wall. Dirk glanced at the dark elf’s feet and cursed her closer, into his trap.
“Hey!” he screamed as he got up and threw a dart bomb at her face, followed by a flash dart and seven consecutive throwing stars. The assassin redirected the missiles to blast into many of the guards, who had begun to get up and shake off their daze. A harpoon came slicing through the air only to explode midflight in a quick blaze that left only ashes falling slowly through the air. The dark elf reared on the harpoon team and blasted them from the wall with a ball of lightning.
“Krentz!” Dirk screamed. “Stop this madness now!”
She turned and regarded him with a cocked head. She raised her left hand and there was a black rose held in it. Her right hand moved to her neck and peeled back the faceless mask. Krentz shook her head and her hair spilled out and down her back. Tears pooled in her eyes.
“Oh, Dirk, my love,” Krentz cried and stepped closer. Another step brought her a foot from the trap. Her face came into view clearer in the moonlight, and Dirk watched in horror as her cries turned to laughter and her face contorted in a snarl.
“No, she will not stop; we will not stop until every human of Whill’s line is dead.” She laughed. The captain of the guard howled and charged, his blade meant to impale her suddenly. With a clash she sent his sword flying and sliced through his armor, leaving an X of blood across his chest and glowing edges on the armor. The guard fell and stared dead-eyed at Dirk.
“Krentz,” Dirk began.
“No, my dear boy,” laughed the dark elf. “I am not Krentz.”
The face of Krentz contorted and the tattoos swirled. The hair turned blue from the roots to the tips, and Dirk looked into the eyes of a dark elf he recognized. She was one of the twins he had seen in Eadon’s floating palace of crystal. She was a twin!
Whill of Agora: Book 03 - A Song of Swords Page 25
