by Dante King
“An hour, maybe a little more,” Hana said. “The weather is capricious beyond the Pass.”
“If we ride at full speed, we should be able to fly all the way back to Hrímdale and not have to take the dragons on foot. Hana,” I said, with both my hands on her shoulders, “you ride on Jaz’s back. We’re all flying now.”
“But they’ll see us coming from a mile away, Mike?” said Saya, ever the tactician.
I winked at her. “That’ll give them plenty of time to shit their pants then, won’t it? I doubt there are many things that sap the morale more than spying eight dragons heading your way with death in their eyes and vengeance in their hearts.”
Saya smiled and nodded keenly.
“I intend to test this new relic to the full extent of its powers,” I said to the others. “Now, let’s fly. Those rebels aren’t going to know what hit them.”
Chapter 16
The thing about a capital city that only has one land-based way in, is that it also only has one land-based way out.
Hrímdale was besieged by the Vetruscan rebels, which sounded bad on paper, but really only amounted to the insurgent forces having blocked the road into the township. They had, according to Ashrin, also barricaded the fjord too, so that, if they managed to take the city, the Queen would not be able to flee by boat.
Anyone who had ever seen Game of Thrones—so just me in all of the Mystocean Empire—knew how totally fucked ships were when it came to fighting dragons. When those ships were not even equipped with the giant ballista weapons that might have been able to kill a dragon in one shot, that went doubly.
How many dragons does it take to screw a naval barricade?
It sounded like the opening to some sort of bawdy joke, but the reality was about as far from a joke as it was possible to be.
We hit the barricade like a furious, fire-breathing hurricane.
Eight dragons, each breathing different colored flames, converged on the lines of enemy vessels that were strung across the mouth of the fjord. The enemy ships were currently held at bay by a line of Queen Frami’s longboats that were anchored just out of bowshot. Neither side looked like they wanted to be the one to kick off a naval battle, but seeing as the enemy had effectively blocked the only maritime escape route, they looked happy to wait it out.
They probably felt less happy about it when Noctis, with me on his back, led the eight dragons in low across the water. Like a flock of living fighter-jets, we hit the enemy vessels at about one hundred miles an hour.
Flames bloomed; red, yellow, white, pale green, and blue. Rigging and sails caught and went up like tissue paper, spars cracked, masts shattered and fell, and anchor chains ran like syrup across the burning decks. Men and women were blasted overboard—in pieces, chunks, or as a fine ash, more often than whole.
Noctis conjured and deployed a fireball from his throat of such explosive velocity that the longboat he hit actually lifted clean out of the water and burst apart, sending beams and planks and bits of sailors flying in all directions.
Ashrin, in her Titan form, grabbed the mast of another ship and rolled the whole thing over so that it was floating upside down, before Jazmyn set it ablaze.
The sailors who weren’t killed outright on our first pass showed great quickness of mind when they threw themselves over the rails of their stricken and burning craft, before we came back around to finish the vessels off.
It was the work of a few moments. Less than a minute. In that time, about eighteen renegade vessels were blasted to bits and sent on their way to the bottom of the fjord.
As we made a third pass, to make sure no ships remained that had been capable of moving, I cast my dragon-aided hearing and vision over toward the ships of the defending Vetruscans and heard them cheering us on. By the way that sailors were scrambling around the decks of the friendly vessels, it appeared that the skippers of the longboats were ordering their crews to move in on the busted enemy ships, probably to plunder, salvage, and take as many prisoners hostage as they could before the sinking ships went under the surface.
With a cry and a gesture, I motioned for the rest of the dragonmancers to follow me to the shore of the fjord. I wanted us to regroup and the plan I had formed while on the flight from the mountains to Hrímdale. It was a fairly straightforward scheme; I was going to try and convince the rebels to give it up and fuck off back to the wastes from whence they had come. If that didn’t work, I would threaten them, probably using the information that their naval force had been reduced to a couple of planks and a few scraps of sail cloth in the less time than it took to soft boil an egg to emphasize my point.
And if that fails? I asked myself as Noctis and I flew toward the fishing docks of Hrímdale, where the fisherman had taken on the guises of soldiers and bowmen.
“If that fails, then we fight,” Noctis said.
He spoke surely and confidently. Spoke as if he already knew the outcome of my proposed plan.
“They might want to talk,” I said, but my voice sounded unsure and unconvinced, even to me.
“They did not come across the country and through the Wilderlands, gathering soldiers and strength along the way, burning out farms and slaying whole outlying villages just so that they could talk to this Queen Frami,” Noctis said flatly.
“When you put it like that…” I said. “Sounds like you’re already resigned for a fight.”
Noctis did the telepathic equivalent of a shrug. “Dragons live to fight. Fighting is what we are born for. It is what we know. And I know that there is a fight coming, Mike.”
As we came in low and Noctis banked and slowed, I patted the Onyx Dragon on his muscled and scaled neck. “You know what, pal, I think you might be right.”
* * *
I had learned, through some random book on historical warfare that I had come across while trying to sleep in the Arroyo Seco Regional Branch Library, that the depiction of medieval battles in movies was almost always done wrong. Sieges in particular.
Like I said, not very surprising, perhaps. Hollywood, after all, have to set their action within a given time slot and make it as engaging as possible for all those avid popcorn-munchers that have paid their hard-earned ten bucks to watch their movie. However, one of the recurring aspects of Hollywood medieval flicks, which they almost never included in those awesome siege scenes was having the defenders having a ditch dug at the base of their walls.
According to that book that I had read, if those silly idiots in Kingdom of Heaven or The Two Towers had just dug ditches, they would have brought themselves days or weeks of time. A two-yard ditch at the base of a five-yard wall effectively raises the height of the wall and gives you a seven-yard barrier. It also means that, to get siege towers or ladders up against it, your enemy is obliged to fill in the ditch. This gives the defenders ample opportunity to rain a merry storm of arrows down on them.
It was clear, that the Queen of Vetrusca had read that same book that I had. Either that, or she was endowed with far more common sense than your average Hollywood studio executive.
There were only a couple of small sections of wall to the front of Hrímdale that actually needed manning. This was thanks to the jagged and impassable hills that surrounded the fjord and the capital. Queen Frami’s antecedents had simply extended the natural barrier that these hill walls provided, building an overhanging eight-yard-high wall that a spider would have found near impossible to climb. They had also, to my satisfaction, dug a two-yard ditch right at the base of it.
The weak spot, as with any defending wall, was the gate. Luckily, though, Queen Frami had ordered the digging of a ditch in front of this too, just to make the approach that little bit harder for anyone with a battering ram.
I landed Noctis, and the other dragonmancers and their steeds hit the ground soon after me.
“Mike,” Jazmyn said, no longer in her Titan form. “We have been called to gather with the rest of the Twelve. You will have to see this through without us.”
“You’re going already?” I asked. “We’ve barely gotten the bloodshed started.”
“I am as disappointed as you are,” Ashrin said, also no longer in her Titan form. “The Empress has need of the Twelve—all of them. And that includes Jazmyn and I.”
What could the Empress possibly need right now? What could be more important than securing allies such as the Vetruscans for our mission into the Subterranean Realms? Whatever it was, I doubted Jazmyn and Ashrin would tell me.
“Alright,” I said. “I guess I’ll just kill a few assholes on your behalf.”
“Excellent,” Jazmyn said with a grin, before she summoned her Crescent Dragon.
“Good luck, Mike Noctis,” Ashrin said as her Toxin Dragon appeared.
The two high-ranking dragonmancers leaped onto their mounts and took flight.
“Well, that makes us down two dragonmancers,” I said. “Hopefully we’ll still have enough firepower to put down these rebels.” Or, hopefully, they would decide against fighting altogether. But that would remain to be seen.
We were soon greeted by Queen Frami, her military advisors trailing her like a line of chicks after a hen.
“So,” she said to me, “you managed to keep my ward safe, then?”
Hana, standing nearby, gave a curt nod and a small smile.
“It was touch and go for a second there,” I said with an easy grin.
The Queen gave me a quizzical look with her one eye.
“Giant bear,” I said, waving an airy hand. “Living inside of an abandoned temple. Standard craziness. There’s a lot to tell, Your Majesty, but it will have to wait.”
Queen Frami’s face hardened. It already looked like it was carved out of a block of granite, so that was saying something.
“Yes,” she said. “There will be time for talk later. Presumably, you found what you were seeking, otherwise I don’t imagine that you would have all returned.”
I nodded but did not elaborate. I’d tell the Queen what happened if we survived whatever it was that was coming next, but I’d do it in private.
The Queen of Vetrusca looked like she was able to read my thoughts. She rubbed at her chin, and her eye flicked over to Hana.
“Good,” she said. “I wish to know more, to hear the tale, but it will have to wait. First, we must deal with the traitorous scum that gather outside my walls.”
There was a chorus of bloodthirsty and appreciative grumbling at this from the martial advisors gathered around the Queen.
Words and phrases like ‘meet them head on’, ‘prove our mettle’, ‘merciless’ and ‘cold steel’ were shared with gusto.
Queen Frami appeared not to be listening to these men and women too closely. She struck me as someone who kept her own counsel most of the time and was not going to be swayed by a bunch of posturing underlings.
I cleared my throat and gave the military advisors a quick, meaningful glance. “Before start knocking off heads,” I said. “I’d like to try to reason with these rebels of yours, if you don’t mind, Your Majesty?”
The Queen looked dubious. “I will not lie to you and say that this is either a good idea or one that is likely to yield results. They might be traitorous rat bastards, but the forces gathered outside of these walls are still Vetruscans. I know them. We are a stubborn people and are not easy to flatter, bribe, or cajole into changing course once we have set our minds to one.”
“Still,” I said, “I think my Overseer would appreciate me at least trying. A battle will lead to a lot of losses, and if you’re going to help us in the Subterranean, it’d be good if you could provide as many soldiers as possible.”
The Queen considered this for a while. She looked at Hana, who gave her a very slight nod, imperceptible to the royal aides.
Queen Frami sighed. “Ah, what the hell? You may as well. I don’t give a succubus’ shit whether all those ungrateful turncoats out beyond the gate should perish and end up churned into the mud beyond the wall. I do, however, care what happens to those brave fighters of mine who are waiting to engage with the foe. The fewer lives expended while defending Hrímdale, the better.”
“But, Your Majesty—” one of the ballsier aides started to protest.
Queen Frami cut him off by raising a hand, which had the same effect as a frying pan to the face might. The grizzled man fell silent.
“Go and run your tongue, Dragonmancer,” Queen Frami said to me. “Be warned though, I’m doubtful that you’ll even be able to gain entrance to their command tent, wherever that might be. Such is the pig-headed mentality of those renegades that you’re more than likely going to be attacked as you approach. Have you given any thought to how the hell you’re going to get into the camp?”
I looked from Hana to the Queen.
“I’m just going to go right out through the front door. With a bit of smoke and mirrors, I think I can get into their command tent without anyone even noticing I’m there.”
“Oh, yeah, Mike,” Saya scoffed good-naturedly, “because you’re so subtle.”
“Just ask that Frost Dragon,” Elenari quipped not quite under her breath.
“Smoke and mirrors…?” Penelope said. “Really, Mike?”
I feigned offense. “Well, maybe not so much with the mirrors,” I said, “but I will definitely be making use of a little smoke.”
* * *
It was only the second time that I had made use of my Smog Dragon, Wayne’s, Smog Form ability, but it was most definitely a little easier on this occasion. The spell turned me into smog for a limited time. Made my body intangible, made me all but invisible.
Almost invisible, I should have said. I was still smoke, so I could still be seen. Luckily for me, though, where there is a siege there is fire. At least, where there is a siege there are usually a bunch of overzealous closet arsonists who can’t wait to get the braziers going so that they can heat up tongs, roast meat, or set an arrow on fire should one of the opposition come within shooting distance.
As it was, little old me drifting along at ankle height went totally unnoticed. It was more difficult than I had thought, actually locating the hub of the enemy operations. I attributed this to not having long-range vision as I had come to know it and instead having to rely on what I had come to learn and know about military encampments. After following the flow of traffic and the gossip among the enemy troops, I managed to float my smoky ass into the center of the camp. Once there, it wasn’t too difficult to slip through a tear in the leather of a tent that practically had ‘Big Nobs’ stamped across its entrance.
Once inside, moving across the floor with care and much concentration, I managed to get under the large table that sat in the middle of the rough command tent.
For a little while, I stayed put and eavesdropped on the six soldiers who were apparently leading this rabble of rebels.
The leader was a woman with pointed ears topped with tufts of silvery fur. Her short, messy hair was the same silver-gray color, as was the bushy tail that stuck out of the seat of her pants. This made me think that she might be a werewolf. Her eyes were a startling yellow, and her canines protruded below her bottom lip. Her bone-structure was flawless, but there was a sallow gauntness to her face that hinted at desperation and hunger.
The second female was an older dwarf with heavy lines above her brow and dark hair peppered with gray. The third female was overburdened with muscle, had only a single eye, and wore her long black hair pulled back into a severe bun. From the single eye, I figured she was a cyclops of some kind.
The other three soldiers were all males. There was a sharp-faced dude who looked like a humanoid lizard with bright orange eyes, and yet another was a male troll. The third and final male was an elf.
Three females and three males. Based on what I knew about the Vetruscans sharing the problem of no male mancers, that meant that there could be no more than three bearmancers in the tent.
I considered keeping myself hidden for a little longer to get more intel, but there was the matter
of mana drain while holding the Smog Form. While the relic had boosted my mana levels way beyond what they had been before, they weren’t quite endless. It was, literally, a conscious case of holding myself together. Not just that, but the spell also involved keeping my mana from floating apart.
After only a couple of minutes, I’d already learnt that the rebels’ tactics were about as obvious and straightforward as I would have expected them to be. That wasn’t to say that the bearmancers leading this insurgent force were fools. There was just only so much that you could do when faced with a single wall and a single gate standing in the way of your objective: you try to climb over it or smash it down.
I released the Smog Form spell and resumed my normal shape.
I’m not a small guy, and when I popped back into existence, it resulted in me flipping the large table in the center of the room and sending all the maps and bits of parchment flying.
The result of my entrance, in the middle of what was supposed to be a secure camp, was electric. To say that the six soldiers gathered in the tent were taken aback would have been a gross understatement.
The sound of knives, axes, and swords being drawn greeted me, but not before the unified cries of surprise and shock.
I raised my hands immediately. The last thing that I wanted was to be spitted or sliced before I’d earned it.
“Who the hell are you?” demanded the elf woman, who had recovered her senses and poise the quickest out of the bunch. “And how in the name of fuck did you get in here?”
I could feel a blade tickling at the hairs on the back of my neck, but I refrained from turning around. With my dragonsenses, with my elevated hearing and smell, I was aware of each of the men and women standing around me. I could smell the tangy sweat of the fearful and the mistrustful, and I could hear the thud-thud-thud-thud of elevated heart rates.
“My name’s Mike,” I said, “and before you go trying to stick me with your cutlery, I’d like to remind you that if I’d wanted to kill you, I could have done it a few different ways without you even knowing I was here. More than one of those ways, I’ll add, would result in this tent being little more than a smoking crater.”
