Daybreak (26 page)

“Yes, it’s me,” Kael said sharply. “And if it hadn’t
been
for me, you’d be de —”

The screech of iron cut over the top of his words. Gwen ripped the helmet down its middle as if it were no more difficult a feat than shredding parchment.

Kael had to move quickly to avoid getting struck by its jagged halves.

“You lied to me — you
tricked
me!”

“I saved your sorry arse!”

“The pest used me,” she hissed, turning her glare to the sky. “This was all just a part of her mischief. She brought Midlan here. She used the wildmen to fight him while she slipped away.”

“No, this was my idea,” Kael said sharply. “If you would’ve just listened to me in the first place, none of this would have —”

“
You
did this?” Her eyes burned when he nodded; her lips peeled back from her teeth in a snarl that might’ve frightened a wolf. Behind her, Silas quickly dropped into his lion form and darted out of reach.

Kael tried to speak calmly. “We didn’t use you. This wasn’t about
slipping away
— it was about putting a stop to Midlan. Why would Crevan send an army after Kyleigh when he knows that their swords would be no use? Think about it, Gwen,” he said when her face burned redder. “The King never meant to simply capture her and leave. He planned to take the Valley the same way he’s taken the seas. Crevan’s lost his grip on the Kingdom, and he means to get it back.”

For half a breath, her glare wavered. Kael stood still — as if to move even an inch would undo what little ground he’d gained. But in the end, it didn’t matter.

“Wildmen died today,” Gwen said, her words deathly quiet. “They’ve left their wives without husbands and children without mothers. They are friends I’ll never see again … and it’s all because of you.”

Her words stung him for half a moment before he realized that she was wrong.

No, this wasn’t his fault. He’d done everything he could to help the wildmen. If Gwen had stopped scoffing at him long enough to listen, they might’ve had a decent plan. They never would’ve marched straight out into the open. When he told the warriors to let go,
she
was the one who’d ordered them to hold their ground. Had she only listened, they might still be alive.

The weight of their blood belonged to Gwen, and Gwen alone. He had every right to yell this at her, to throw it all back into her face. But when he saw the glass that covered her eyes and the raw, red anguish behind it, he found he didn’t have the heart to say these things aloud.

She already knew it.

“I’m not your enemy,” Kael said quietly. “I’ve been trying to help you, for mercy’s sake! Don’t you understand? The King isn’t going to stop — he’ll call his army down upon every hold across the realm, he’ll send his dragon to turn their bones to ash. The wildmen are the only people who have any chance against him. You’re the only ones who can stop him. The Kingdom needs your help.”

“The Kingdom’s forgotten us. I owe it nothing. You’ve done enough, mutt,” she added, turned back for the Cleft. “I don’t want to see your face in my lands again.”

It was the excitement of battle that was making her snarl at him — it had to be. Nobody in her right mind could’ve possibly thought the King’s fight would end here. She couldn’t honestly believe this was his fault.

But there was no room left to be calm. Kael’s frustration had finally boiled to the top of his head. He could hold it back no longer: “You’re a fool, Gwen. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever met anybody so ridiculous. The King’s going to come back to Thanehold — and next time, his army will be ready to fight the whisperers.”

She said nothing. She never so much as turned. Kael wanted nothing more than to march as far as he could in the other direction, but Ulric was behind those rocks.

And he had to be stopped.

No sooner had Kael begun to jog than a familiar roar drew his gaze to the clouds. Kyleigh swooped down in front of him, landing with such force that the wind coming off her wings nearly knocked him backwards. But shock kept him on his feet.

Large cuts split her face — from the side of her forehead and across the bridge of her nose, down to the tip of her chin. The green of her eyes was muted and glassy with pain. Kael didn’t even remember moving: the next thing he knew, his hands were upon her face.

Her words burst inside his head:
No, there’s no time
.

“It’ll only take a moment. I can’t let you —”

I’ll be fine. We have a chance to stop him
, Kyleigh said, the fires in her eyes rising against the pain.
The dragon’s curse is weakened. If we can reach him, we can put an end to this. But we have to go
now
.

Kael wanted her nowhere near the black dragon. He’d felt how easily it’d torn through his scales. The wounds on Kyleigh’s face were the marks of its claws, and he had a feeling the dragon had been responsible for the tear in her armor, as well.

No, there had to be a better way. He turned back to the Cleft. “Ulric is on the other side of those rocks. If you can get me close, I can kill him.”

Ulric is gone — I’ve already looked. He never stays for long, once the tide turns. I’ll bet he slithered off the moment he felt the curse weaken. Believe me, I’d like nothing more than to gut him
.
Her snout twisted in what could’ve only been an expression of contempt.
But he’s too quick
.

She lowered her wing, waiting for him to climb on. But Kael couldn’t. “This is madness, Kyleigh. We’ve got no chance at all against that dragon — it’ll tear us from the skies!”

His curse is weakened
, she said again, as if that utterance should’ve done everything to assure him.
I know he won’t harm us
.

“How could you possibly know that?”

I can sense it
, she growled.
The King’s curse maddens its victims — it makes them do horrible things. Don’t you remember what it did to Jake
?

Yes, Kael remembered. They would’ve lost a very dear friend, had they not set him free. But then again … Jake had never carved lines down Kyleigh’s face. If he had, that story might’ve had a different ending.

“All right,” Kael said after a moment.

By the time he’d pulled himself onto her back, his mind was already made up. Perhaps she was right: perhaps the dragon really
was
harmless. But if it wasn’t, if its claws curled or one of its wicked eyes so much as twitched towards Kyleigh, he would put a dagger straight through the middle of its blackened slit.

The dragon wouldn’t get another chance to harm her.

Griffith watched the pest as she thudded into the charred field. The man who ran up to her must’ve been Kael. They talked for a moment, their heads close. Griffith squinted through the clouds of whipping snow as they spoke. He tried to see what they were saying.

After a moment, Kael climbed onto the pest’s back. She took off with a burst of her wings and turned her head towards the ramparts. For a moment, Griffith thought they might be coming back.

He slung his arm at them and his lungs filled with a howl. But they didn’t stop. The pest tore over Thanehold and beat for the mountains.

Griffith watched until the clouds swallowed them up, frowning.

“Where are they going?” one of the craftsmen hollered at him. With the warriors gone, a few of the bravest had inched their way up the rampart steps. Now they stood clustered beside him, their thin arms clinging to the walls as the winds beat against their frail bodies.

Behind him, a large crowd gathered in the village square. Most of the craftsmen waited beneath the safety of the walls, along with the folk from downmountain. All of their faces were turned expectantly towards Griffith.

“I don’t know where the pest has gone, but it looks as if our Thane is making good time.” He turned back to the Cleft and couldn’t contain his grin as he watched the warriors cast a hill of boulders aside. “The wildmen will have Midlan split wide by evening.”

Cheers sounded behind him, and Griffith allowed himself a sigh of relief.
 

It’d been a difficult fight. When he closed his eyes, he could still see the pillar of fire that’d erupted from the clouds. His chest froze and his stomach dropped. All the while the fires raged, he didn’t take a single breath. But Kael had kept Gwen safe. He’d thrown her from the fire’s path.

Griffith just wished the others had been so lucky.

The longer the warriors dug, the tighter he gripped his sword. He longed to charge in beside them. Heat surged through his limbs at the thought of joining their ranks. But Gwen had ordered him to stay put — and he knew he had to listen.
 

Still, his hand twisted tightly about his sword as he paced, his jaw set tight. Every inch of him was coiled and bunched — ready to spring over the ramparts at a moment’s trouble.

“One day it’ll be you leading the charge, young Griff,” a craftsman called from where he clutched one of the iron braziers. Though the wind tried to rip him away, his mouth still split in a knowing grin. “Just a bit more height on those legs, a bit more bulk on those arms, and you’ll be set for crushing skulls.”

“I’m set
now
,” Griffith insisted.

He thrust his sword in a wide arc, but the craftsmen only laughed. A few tussled his stripe of hair as he strode by them.

Several moments passed with Griffith swinging absently at the ground before a loud whistle pierced the air beneath him:

“Make way — make
way
, blast you!” Baird cried. A pair of downmountain folk led him gently through the crowd. Even though everyone moved out of his way, he still barked like mad. “I heard the crashing of the earth, felt the touch of a strange wind. The wretched shrieks of mages filled my poor old ears. But now silence cloaks the battlefield. Tell me, young Griffith,” he called when he reached the bottom of the rampart stairs. “Are the mages defeated? Have their spells been silenced?”

“Not yet. But as soon as our Thane breaks through those rocks, they will be.”

More cheers followed his words. Hard smiles covered the wildmen’s faces.

Only Baird seemed upset. “No, he promised me! Kael the Wright swore he would silence the mages at the very first. They can’t be left to sit, they can’t be left to think — that’s precisely how mages become trouble!”

“He’s cracked,” one of the craftsmen muttered. “If he’d seen how Gwen dealt with that first line, he wouldn’t be worried. There’s hardly a smudge left of them.”

Griffith agreed. Still, he knew how wild Baird could get. “I’m sure they’ve run off by now,” he said carefully.

“Run off?” Baird sputtered. “No, they won’t run off — they
can’t
run off. The King will keep them here. He won’t bear so great a slight. He won’t bear it, I tell you! Oh, he’ll think of something.” Baird’s hands twisted into the front of his robes. His head turned to the ground and his voice sounded as if he spoke to someone else: “He’ll think of something, won’t he? Yes, Crevan
always
thinks of something …”

Though most of what Baird said was nonsense, he spoke so grandly that many of the downmountain folk had taken him for some sort of wise man. Muttering filled the courtyard at his words; smiles fell into frowns.

As he watched them, Griffith’s middle began to squirm.

“We must stop the mages, young Griffith! We mustn’t delay,” Baird cried.

“We’ll have them stopped soon enough. There’s no point in worrying over it,” a craftsman shot back.

An argument erupted. Their voices sounded like screams inside Griffith’s ears: the words sharpened until they lost their meaning, the voices melted into a pile of mush.
 

Soon, his head rang so fiercely that he could no longer tell who spoke. The screams swirled around his ears until they plunged inside his head — where they erupted into a storm.

Can’t do anything …
must
do something
…
the Thane needs … skin our hides if we go … must go
…
be killed … we’ll
all
be killed
…
he’ll think of something … always thinks of …
 

The screams dulled and the voices began to quiet. Griffith ran his fingers across the smooth surface of his marble — an orb made of stone-ice from the summit. Its flesh cooled his burning ears. He rolled it between his fingers, trying to untangle the knot of voices inside his head.

Every dip and turn followed the path of a different voice. He traced each one carefully, pulling it apart from the next until he could hear them all. But through the crowd inside his ears, one calm utterance rose above the rest:

“You must trust me, young Griffith. The wildmen need our help.”

When he opened his eyes, he saw that Baird stood within an arm’s reach. He’d crawled his way up the frozen steps. His knobby hand reached out. The pads of his fingers were worn as smooth as stone.

“I can stop the mages … but I lack the strength to battle the winds, to cross these frozen lands. You must lead me out,” he pleaded, his bandaged face lined with deep cracks. “I need your strength.”

The bard’s words calmed him: they cooled his heart like the stone-ice cooled his flesh — ringing clearly above the others. Griffith always followed the clearest voice. The words that struck him loudest would lead him onto the best path.

The marble just helped him see it.

“Keep watch from the ramparts —”

“But, Thane-child —”

“I’ll be back before you have time to worry,” Griffith said firmly.
 

He sheathed his sword and took Baird by one of his knobby arms. The bard’s hands latched onto him tightly. Griffith tried to ignore the muttering as he marched through the crowd. The downmountain folk sounded relieved, but the craftsmen thought him a fool.

Still, Griffith kept his chin high. He tried to walk the way Gwen did: straight-shouldered and with heavy steps. “Craftsmen, let us out,” he demanded when they reached the wall.

They obeyed — though several grumbled as they worked.

The craftsmen peeled the wall away, careful to stand to the side as winter came blasting in. Baird’s hands dug in tightly as the wind tried to knock his body away. Griffith braced him with an arm and bent his head against the gales.