“Ragnal did this, and he’ll pay for it,” Taliesin vowed through gritted teeth.
“Princess, help us!” Bedwyn called out.
Without hesitation, she lifted Ringerike and attacked the Wolfmen from behind. After two fell at her feet, the rest turned and converged on Taliesin. She swung her sword, cut through armor and flesh, and hacked her way to the stairs as Bedwyn led his men forward and joined her. When the last Wolfman lay dead, a group of people, several with clothes on fire, ran screaming out of a chamber. Debris fell from the ceiling; the roof was about to collapse. Taliesin hurried to Bedwyn and grabbed his arm.
“Take these people to the lower level, Bedwyn. There is a door beneath these stairs that leads into the sewers,” Taliesin shouted. “The grates are open. Go to Penkill Castle in the Gorge of Galamus. The Raven Clan will keep you safe. Ask for Hornbill and tell him ‘no raven is without a nest,’ and he will offer his protection. I swear it.”
“What about you, Princess Rosemond?” Bedwyn asked. “The castle is lost. Almaric has won. Come with us.”
“I have much yet to do! Go while you can!”
The knights turned and led the people under the stairs. Taliesin backed out of the room as the ceiling collapsed in flames, turned, and stared at the war zone. The battle had reached the western side of the castle, and more Wolfen blocked her path. Swinging Ringerike over her head, Taliesin charged the enemy who were killing a group of Royal Guards. She stabbed through the furry bodies, pushing the dead out of the way, and allowed the few guardsmen to flee.
People screamed from an upper window, prepared to jump. Before they did, Taliesin lifted her hand, eased them out of the window, and placed them on the ground, uninjured. Her sudden ability to use magic made her feel invincible, but there was no time to congratulate herself. In the noise and confusion, Taliesin fought her way to the frightened families. She saw Chief Lykus through the crowd. He held a noblewoman by the throat, opened his large jaws, and consumed her head in one bite. He tossed the headless body aside, seized a man, and sank his teeth into the man’s face.
Taliesin sliced through the monsters, hoping to reach the survivors and help what few she could escape. A loud call brought Sir Gavin and the Blue Star knights to her assistance. The knights battled through the furry bodies, and somehow they managed to reach the noble families. Dead bodies on the ground twitched, and then stood on their feet, morphing into their Wolfen forms. Thule soldiers, led by Duke Andre, ran up behind Taliesin. Andre made his way to Taliesin to fight at her side, while the Blue Star knights led the survivors in the direction taken by the royal guards. She lost sight of them, and stabbed a beast about to tackle Andre Rigelus from behind. The duke waved his thanks and turned to kill another.
“Lykus!” Taliesin roared. “I am coming for you!”
She cut off a furry head and sliced another Wolfen across the middle. Pink guts spilled onto the ground and splashed against her armor. The roof of the western wing collapsed to the ground with a loud crash. Taliesin moved toward Lykus and let her sword strike at will; Ringerike, in her tight grip, moved in every direction. Taliesin headed toward Lykus—this time she would not let the Wolf chief get away. He caught her scent, turned, spit out a mouthful of flesh, and snarled.
“Kill the bitch!”
Every Wolfen in the vicinity answered its master’s command. Lumbering forms on hind legs with monstrous heads swarmed the blue orb. Wolfen pressed their heads into the orb, which bowed inwards like a bubble. Taliesin reacted and stabbed each pointed-eared head through the jaw or lopped off its muzzle. She stabbed and hacked her way to Lykus. Despite the death and the odor of blood, not once did she feel the urge to turn; her wild side seemed a distant memory. Her sword arm never wavered; Ringerike cut down the furry bodies and left a butcher’s shop in its wake. When at last she faced Chief Lykus, Taliesin was eager to kill him. He dropped the body he had just ripped apart and glared at her
“This battle was over before it was fought,” Lykus snarled with his mouth full, and paused to swallow a large piece of raw flesh. A clawed hand slid across his muzzle and his yellow eyes narrowed. “Almaric will be king, and I will be his chancellor. The Wolf Clan will feed on the flesh of Ravens and Eagles. But you are mine, Raven Mistress. I will eat you and leave your remains along the road in route to Penkill Castle.”
“You talk too much, old man!”
Ringerike lifted her arm and sped toward Lykus’ chest. His eyes opened in surprise as a crackle of blue flames slid across the length of the blade as the tip slid between his ribs. A throaty snarl burst from his jaws, and Lykus swept one clawed hand toward her head. A ring that possessed an ancient, dark magic gleamed on his finger, and his hand passed through the blue orb and smacked the side of her helmet. Small scales fell from her head as the helmet collapsed, only to rejoin her armor at her feet.
“Die, girl,” the chief snarled.
Lykus attacked Taliesin, snapping and snarling, and slashed at her armor. Ringerike shot upwards, met flesh, and cut through a massive arm at the shoulder. Lykus howled in pain as his arm hit the ground, and blood spurted from the wound. Taliesin was too stunned to react, and merely held onto the sword as it struck again and cut through his other arm, at the elbow. The second arm fell beside the first, and both twitched and crawled toward the Wolf chief’s legs. Taliesin swung her sword for the killing blow, only to be deflected by another blade—a gold-coated sword with a serrated edge that burst into flames. She knew the sword, Flamberge. The large figure in black armor that held it was none other than Captain Wolfgar, who stepped between Lykus and Taliesin. His leather armor was scraped, with more than a few tears from blows received from royal knights he’d fought, and his cape hung in shreds. His eyes burned bright yellow.
“My quarrel is not with you. Move aside, Wolfgar.”
“As Captain of the Wolf Pack, I cannot let you pass, Raven Mistress,” Wolfgar growled as he lifted his visor. He wore the magical gauntlets with the red stones. A fresh cut on his left check was open to the bone, but she was too angry to feel sorry for him. “I cannot allow you to kill my Lord and master.”
“I know what you did, Wolfgar. You murdered Fakar and tried to kill Rook. Well, Rook and Wren flew away. They’re safe now, but I can’t say the same for you or your clan. I’ve never been more disappointed in you than now.”
A Wolfman grabbed Lykus’ arms and attached them to his stumps, as Wolfgar stared at her. Emotions rippled on his face and stopped at one of regret; their eyes locked for a moment, and she remembered the captain as a boy.
“Kill her,” Lykus snarled as his flesh mended with uncanny speed. “Join me when it’s done, Captain Wolfgar.”
With a final snarl cast over his shoulder, Lykus loped off on all fours, followed by a pack of wolves that joined the battle at the front gate against Xander. Taliesin was left to fight Wolfgar, and while she was reluctant, Ringerike was ready.
“What did you expect? I have always been loyal to my clan and to Prince Almaric,” Wolfgar said. “The Raven service oath I took in Duvalen means nothing to me. I have always been your enemy, Taliesin.”
“I’m sorry to hear you say so,” she replied.
Wolfgar lifted the flaming sword, and while Flamberge was impressive, it lacked the power of Calaburn, and certainly was no match for Ringerike. Taliesin knocked the blade aside with her sword as if she fought a boy with a twig. Ringerike hummed in her hand, eager to defeat the magic sword as much as the man who used it in battle. They traded blows, red flames against blue sparks. Taliesin knew Wolfgar was a skilled swordsman, but she made no mistakes, and her strikes kept her on the offense. Phelon appeared behind Wolfgar. He held a sword that sparkled with silver light, Traeden, and he joined the fight, but his strikes were not meant to kill or injure; he played with her.
“This is fun, Wolfgar,” Phelon said with a laugh. “But we can’t tarry long. Xander has lost his mind and he’s killing everyone. We have orders to put him out of his misery and end his rampage.”
“Xander is your friend, and you would kill him?” Wolfgar snarled. He moved away from Phelon and traded a blow with him. “A crown does not make you a king, Phelon. Nor will you ever lead the Wolf Clan. I will kill you and take Taliesin to Almaric; I do not want to kill the Raven Mistress.”
“Pity you don’t share my vision of the future, because she has to die for it to come to fruition,” Phelon snarled. He pounded Wolfgar’s blade with Traeden, the first magical sword Taliesin had found as a child. “I think we need a new captain of the Wolf Pack. You’re no longer needed, Captain.”
With a savage snarl, Wolfgar swung Flamberge at Phelon, and Taliesin moved back as the two men fought each other. Traeden and Flamberge were well-matched, and both men fought well, with no sign of growing tired. Phelon went on the offensive, and struck fast as Wolfgar danced out of the way. The duel drew Wolfmen, who cheered and snarled as their commanders traded blows. Ringerike, not content to wait for the outcome, struck at Wolfgar, but the Wolfman was quick; he not only deflected her jab, but struck Phelon in the side. With a howl of pain, Phelon backed off, sword held in both hands, as blood gushed from the wound. Wolfgar spun and stabbed Phelon in his left shoulder. Taliesin cut a swath across Wolfgar’s back, ripped open his armor, and sliced open Phelon’s thigh with another lightning-fast stroke. The Wolfmen glanced at each other and joined to fight her.
“You’re cheating, Raven Mistress,” Phelon taunted. “Lower the protective orb and fight us fairly. Or are you afraid? I think she is afraid, Wolfgar; afraid of two big bad wolves!”
“Two against one isn’t enough; you should have brought more men,” Taliesin said, with a laugh. “As far as I’m concerned, both of you deserve to die. Don’t hold back because I’m a woman. Ringerike is eager to taste your blood. Unlike me, he won’t turn into a monster after he tastes it; he will only grow stronger.”
A dark shadow fell over Taliesin and blocked the light of the moon. Phelon and the Wolf Pack captain were slammed together by a strong rush of wind that flattened them to the ground, unable to rise. Taliesin’s blue orb protected her as a large ball of intense, hot fire blasted the two Wolfmen. Phelon and Wolfgar were reduced to two black spots on the ground. The rings worn by Phelon had also vanished, and only the magical gauntlets and swords remained among the ashes.
“It’s a gold dragon!” shouted a man outside the blast radius.
Taliesin looked up at Tristakus, as he flew past and engaged Xander, who flew into the sky to battle. Both sides paused to watch the aerial contest, ducking as the two creatures beat the air with their wings, generating hurricane-force winds while they blasted each other with flames. Taliesin took a cloak from a body. Ringerike hovered next to her as she collected the two magical swords and put on the gauntlets. She bundled the swords in the cloak and slung it over her shoulder like any good Raven would do, and what she’d trained to do since the age of six. The two swords were now hers, and as soon as she slung them over her shoulder, her sword returned to her hand.
“I did not know any dragons survived the Magic Wars,” Duke Andre said as he appeared beside Taliesin. She lowered the cloak, opened it, and withdrew Traeden, which she handed to Andre. “Rosamond, this is my family sword,” he said. “Thank you for returning it to me.”
“Certainly,” Taliesin replied. She sensed her sword wanted to tell her something as she held Flamberge, and an image of King Boran of Duvalen, wearing the gauntlets, appeared in her mind. So they were Lorian, and Boran’s, no less, she thought as she tucked Flamberge under her arm.
“I take it the dragon is your friend?” Duke Andre asked.
Taliesin nodded, too worried about Tristakus to comment as the dragons belched another round of fire at each other while the glint of pink on the eastern horizon announced the arrival of dawn. Flames, hot and bright, blasted the air, but Tristakus was a real dragon; he was immune to magic and Xander inflicted no serious damage. It was not the same for the Eagle heir. Xander, scorched and weary, turned to flee. As he flew up, away from the castle, Tristakus struck from behind and slammed into him, and like two male eagles competing for a female, they tore at each other with their razor-sharp talons as they plummeted toward the ground.
“They will kill us all when they drop,” a loud voice shouted.
Taliesin spotted Barstow, Morgrave, and Gallus among the black-clad Knights of Chaos. A hard rush of wind, created by the descending dragons, sent the knights and soldiers scrambling over each other to take cover. Barstow, overweight and slow, tripped over his own cloak, fell to the ground, and was left behind by his friends. Xander let out a piteous roar that was silenced when he slammed into the ground on top of the unfortunate Sir Barstow. With a sparkle of lights, Xander’s body reverted to its true form, a merman with light-blue skin and a fish tail, that quickly turned to jelly to vanish into the ground, along with any semblance of Barstow’s remains.
Andre lifted Traeden and rallied the Thule troops and their allies. Sir Justin and Sir Jordan appeared at his side, ready to fight to the death with him, and they headed toward Almaric’s army. Taliesin had no intention of remaining at the castle, and waved Ringerike at the dragon, to catch his attention.
“Bonaparte, I am here,” she shouted.
The gold dragon appeared above Taliesin with a monstrous roar, and the beat of his wings flattened men and wolves against the ground. She sheathed Ringerike, grasped Flamberge, and held out her arms as large talons closed gently around her body. Taliesin was lifted into the air and carried away from the battle and flame-engulfed city, saved by the dragon.
* * * * *
Chapter Twenty
Taliesin, clutched in one of Bonaparte’s feet, stared down at the battlefield as they flew over the city of Padama. She held on tight to Flamberge, which whimpered, unhappy to be at such a great height, while the Raven Sword hummed in contentment. Soldiers from each dukedom were easy to distinguish by the color of their tunics and flags, and they crawled over each other under a haze of black smoke, reminding her of ants fighting for control of an anthill. Ramps leaned against the city walls to allow soldiers entrance into the city, and catapults, both inside and outside the city, continued to launch giant stones at each other. Mixed cavalry divisions battled as they rode across the drawbridge and entered the flame-engulfed city. Eagle legionaries, now fighting alongside soldiers from Thule, Fregia, Erindor, and Bavol, blocked the main road, but Garridan had joined the enemy. The soldiers in the sea-green tunics outnumbered the others two to one, and as they marched toward Tantalon Castle, Taliesin considered it unlikely the brave White Stags and Duke Andre and his half-brothers would escape.
Men in steel, on foot and on horseback, congested the roads outside the city. The black tunics of Scrydon and the Wolf Clan appeared as numerous and formidable as the Garridan army. The King’s Men could not hold out much longer, and as she glanced over her shoulder, she saw the royal banners cut loose from the towers and replaced with the Wolf Prince’s flag; Almaric had taken the city.
The dragon flew north. The King’s Road was littered with corpses, both soldiers and civilians, for miles. Hundreds of enormous wolves had left the city through the northern gate and charged across the rugged terrain in pursuit of brightly bedecked knights who carried a dozen different banners. The dragon dipped lower, as curious as Taliesin to see who the Wolf Pack hunted, and with her Wolfen eyes she spotted a light-blue banner with a large red star, a white banner with a leaping golden stag, and a green banner with a white horse; Blue Star, White Stags, and Thule knights. It had to be Duke Andre, and Sirs Bedwyn, Landrake, and Gavin. There were many castles where the men might find refuge, but only if their horses did not falter, for the wolves that followed were newly created Wolfen and eager for blood.
“This is a bloody day in the annals of Caladonia history,” the dragon said in a deep, rich voice. “Varguld is upon us, Taliesin—it is happening right before our eyes.”
“I want to see Almaric’s position on the hill,” Taliesin shouted. “It l
ooks like his army has won the battle, Bonaparte; if so, they may have taken prisoners!”
“Including your mother, I should imagine.”
Taliesin felt her heart tighten with a sense of guilt and the realization she had lost the chance to build happy memories with Calista. The wolves and mounted men disappeared from sight as the dragon flew toward Lookout Hill, the highest hill in the area, where the tents of Almaric’s officers formed a circle. Armor and swords glinted in the morning sunlight as the dragon circled the hilltop. Princess Calista, Duke Elric of Bavol, Duke Hercule of Fregia, and Lord Ungus knelt in the center of the armored men.
Flamberge whimpered when it sensed Duke Elric Galatyn’s presence among the prisoners, and though it ached to help him, it was not to be. Almaric, in black, stood before the prisoners and held Doomsayer over his head. He wore the royal crown, as had every Draconus king, and the Raven King. He swung the sword and decapitated the princess, both dukes, and then his own grandfather. Almaric stood back as the bodies crumpled forward, and thrust the blood-soaked gold sword in the air while his soldiers cheered. He gazed at the sky, pointed his blade at Taliesin, and a barrage of arrows flew upwards, only to bounce off the thick hide of the dragon.
“I have seen enough! Take me to Ascalon,” Taliesin shouted. Almaric was now King of Caladonia, and soon he would come looking for her.
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