Doom of the Dragon (45 page)

Skylan put his hand to the amulet. “Torval, strengthen my sword arm and embolden my warriors, and, although this might be the end of our song, we will make this a song to be sung for generations.”

His last thought was for Aylaen. He pictured her grieving his death, as she had grieved for him once before, knowing this time he would not return. He imagined her walking the sunlit shore, going on with her life, leading her people, keeping him in her heart.

He kissed the amulet and added, “Watch over her and, if it be possible, Torval, let me meet Raegar one last time!”

Skylan drew his sword.

“For Torval!” he cried.

“For Torval!” the Vindrasi yelled.

“For the Gods of Raj!” Raven's-foot howled.

Armed with spear and sword, shield and hammer, axes and clubs and a gourd, Skylan and his warriors ran, thundering like Torval's wrath, headlong toward their foes.

*   *   *

Wulfe didn't like the stench of iron and the thought of the fighting and dying made his stomach shrivel. He didn't want to stay and at the same time he didn't want to go. He resented being told to run off to his mother, as if he were some stupid Ugly child. His mother and her court would be watching the battle from a safe distance, of course, for the fae were always amused by the spectacle of the Uglies killing each other.

Wulfe didn't want to be safe. He wanted to help Skylan. He just needed to think of some way to help that didn't involve coming anywhere near swords and axes and bloody entrails. He flattened himself among the grass-covered sand dunes and slunk on his belly, doglike, as close to Skylan as he dared.

Skylan was talking to his Ugly god.

“And if it be possible, Torval, let me meet Raegar one last time!”

Wulfe pricked his ears. He hated Raegar, who had beaten him and sent soldiers to kill him. The Uglies believed faeries could grant wishes, or so his mother had told him.

Stupid Uglies.

Yet perhaps Wulfe could grant Skylan's.

Wulfe watched Skylan and the other warriors eagerly rush toward death and then he stood up, scratched himself, and looked into the fire-lit water where some of the oceanids, his adoring subjects, were swimming in the shallows, hoping to be of use to their prince.

Wulfe waded into the sea and the oceanids eagerly gathered around him and asked if wanted to join their friends, who were screeching with delight at the fun of capsizing boats and watching the Uglies flounder in the water. Wulfe was tempted, but he declined, holding fast to his resolve.

“I need to find the Big Ugly,” he told them. “The one with the purple cape and silly crown.”

The oceanids laughed. “A centaur said the one who calls himself emperor went into the city.”

Chewing his lip, Wulfe walked toward the gate of the walled city on the plateau. The gate was surrounded by soldiers who were covered head to toe in iron. He had no idea how to find Raegar or what he was going to do to bring Raegar and Skylan together, but Wulfe wasn't worried. The fae never planned ahead. As his grandmother said, the future was the present in one eye blink and the past in another, so why bother?

He was confident he'd think of something when the time came.

 

CHAPTER

43

Skylan could see the light of campfires reflected off shining breastplates and helms. The soldiers who had been tasked to guard the camp's perimeter had remained at their posts despite the celebrating, although their comrades had seen to it that they had their share of the food and wine. The sight of an unknown foe coming out of the night to attack their ships caused them to drop their flagons and grab their weapons.

The guards were few in number. Beyond them were the first rows of tents, barrels, and wagons filled with supplies and stacks of armaments.

The guards were obviously nervous, their attention divided between watching the flames devour one ship after the next, and peering out into the night. They heard Skylan's force before they saw it and he could imagine their growing fear and uncertainty, as they listened to the howls of the ogres and the uncanny wailing of the Cyclopes, and felt the ground shake with the thudding of many feet.

Moonlight glimmered off swords and shields, and battle lust glittered in the eyes of those who had given themselves into the hands of the gods. His warriors surged through the camp like a tidal wave of blood, smashing and breaking, stabbing and slashing and trampling men underfoot, setting fires as they ran. The guards shouted a warning and then died.

The warning came too late. The soldiers of Oran were overwhelmed by the suddenness and ferocity of the attack. Thinking the war won, they had laid aside their weapons to celebrate and had to scramble to arm themselves. Many had run into the sea to try to save the burning ships, leaving their camps deserted. Some took one look at the rampaging warriors and bolted for the woods. Those brave enough to stand their ground met death instantly, speared, decapitated, or trampled. Skylan and the ogres stopped only long enough to grab torches or snatch blazing branches from the bonfires and hurl them into tents, setting them ablaze, while the Cyclopes smashed water barrels and set fire to wagons, food supplies, and stacks of weapons.

Faces popped up in front of Skylan and were gone in a sword stroke. Beside him, Sigurd was bloodied to the armpits, eerily laughing as he swung his axe, chopping down foes as though cutting through wheat. Grimuir matched Sigurd, though without the unnerving laughter. Bjorn was workmanlike, methodical, while his brother, Erdmun, slashed wildly at anything that moved.

Bear Walker wielded a gigantic sword and carried a shield as big as a house and, like all the ogres, started the battle with a fistful of spears that he hurled with deadly accuracy or drove clean through breastplates. Raven's-foot howled and cast his shamanistic magic, freezing soldiers dead in their tracks with a rattle of the gourd.

Glancing back, Skylan was amazed to see how much ground they had covered and all of them relatively unscathed. Flames crackled, the air was thick with smoke, and soldiers lay dead or groaning. He could also see the lumbering ogres were slowing down, falling behind, and the Cyclopes were scattered all over the beach. He caught up with Sigurd, who was racing ahead with Grimuir, both mad with battle lust.

“Run, you pissants!” Sigurd was shouting at the soldiers. “Run all the way back to Sinaria!”

Skylan gave Sigurd a shove in the back, causing him to stumble. Sigurd turned to glare at him.

“What did you do that for?”

“Slow down!” Skylan commanded. “Wait for the ogres and the Cyclopes. We can't get separated.”

Sigurd glowered, but then obeyed. Grimuir came over to join him, all of them gasping for breath. Sigurd and Grimuir were so slathered in blood Skylan couldn't tell if they'd been wounded and he doubted if they could either.

“I think our road has reached its end,” Skylan said.

They could all now hear beating drums and see what they had long been expecting to see: officers trying to calm the chaos, attempting to gain some sort of control of their troops. To Skylan's surprise, Sigurd gripped him by both shoulders.

“You have taken us on an amazing journey, Skylan,” said the older man. “And this last battle—the best of all. I haven't said it,” he added gruffly, “but you have turned out to be a good chief. I am proud to stand in the shield wall with you.”

Skylan was taken aback, didn't know what to say. Fortunately by this time, the ogres and the Cyclopes were catching up to them. Sigurd changed his grip on Skylan's shoulders to a punch, then turned to make some undoubtedly crude remark to Grimuir.

Skylan greeted Bear Walker and Dela Eden, pleased to see that both were unhurt. They reported that their people had suffered few casualties thus far. Both knew that couldn't last.

“And do not expect help from your dragon,” said Dela Eden.

Skylan glanced overhead to see three shadows wheeling among the stars. Raegar's three dragons had apparently heard the battle and were closing in on Kahg, who was still wreaking havoc among the Sinarian fleet. The dragon had long vowed he would never fight his own kind, but he might not have a choice. Skylan wished the dragon well and turned back to his own problems.

He had been keeping watch for some high ground on which to make a stand and although the ridge of dunes rising between him and the sea wasn't ideal, it would have to do.

“Form the shield wall!” Skylan bellowed out the command and Sigurd and the other Vindrasi passed the word all had been waiting to hear.

Cyclopes archers had shot the last of their flaming arrows into two massive siege engines. Wooden towers mounted on wheels, they blazed into pillars of flame that lit the camp as bright as day.

The ogres, led by Bear Walker, began jostling with one another for places. Dela Eden and her Cyclopes had used up all their arrows and they melted into the night, waiting with club and knife to rush into the melee to strike when least expected.

Skylan took his place at the center of the front row. He put Sigurd on his left and Bjorn on his right, their shields overlapping. Keeper stood behind him, a solid wall, ready with the other ogres in the second row to support the front row and keep them from breaking.

Sigurd was laughing with Grimuir, who was on his left. Bjorn smiled confidently. To his right, his brother, Erdmun, was looking nervous and sick and casting glances over his shoulder as though searching for some place to hide. The immense ogre standing behind him would see to it that he did not try to retreat.

Not that there was anywhere to go if he did, Skylan reflected. Their backs were to the sea.

If Aelon's soldiers had been prepared for battle, they would have easily routed his smaller force. His attack on the ships and now the raid on the camp had taken the Sinarian troops by surprise, thrown them into confusion and turmoil. Surprise was over, replaced by fury.

Soldiers began forming into ragged ranks, armed with whatever weapons they had been able to grab.

Skylan's warriors stood quietly, no one taunting or jeering at the enemy, who would come soon enough. Skylan was under no illusions. The Sinarians were well-trained, disciplined soldiers who would sober up and remember their training and their discipline.

Skylan looked at his men, his heart aching with pride.

“We will meet in Torval's Hall,” he cried, raising his sword. “If we have to rebuild the damn thing ourselves!”

His words brought laughter and a cheer and they braced themselves for the end of the song.

 

CHAPTER

44

Wulfe crouched in the waves that lapped onto a strip of beach not far from the city gates and wondered what he was going to do now. He'd been stranded here in the shallows for some time, his way into the city blocked by enemy soldiers milling about on the beach below the plateau.

He shook his wet hair out of his eyes and studied the situation. The large, flat plateau on which the city was built rose out of the grassy dunes some distance from the beach. The city wall was situated almost on the edge of the plateau, leaving only a very narrow strip of land between. Anyone walking out the gates who took more than ten steps would walk off the rim of the plateau and end up, after a short tumble, on the beach below. The only way into the city was along a narrow road winding up the rise to the top of the plateau.

No iron wielding soldiers were on this stretch of beach. They were massed outside the city gates, most of them drunk and eager to start looting and killing. The fae had gathered here, some distance away, to watch the exciting events in safety and exchange the latest gossip, among them several satyrs who had come to the water's edge to tease the oceanids.

Wulfe was still trying to locate Raegar and he had asked the satyrs if they had seen an Ugly matching his description, saying he was taller and uglier than all the other Uglies, strong and powerfully built and wearing a long, purple mantle. The satyrs remembered him seeing him enter the city or they thought they remembered him or they wanted to remember him, but couldn't quite.

The one good piece of news was that at least no one remembered seeing Raegar leave the city.

Catching sight of a centaur who had strolled over to watch the fighting, Wulfe climbed out of the water, shaking himself like a dog, and went to speak to him. Centaurs were considered prideful by many of the other fae, because their horse bodies were strong and powerful. They were more serious minded, and they feared very little.

The centaur acknowledged Wulfe with a dignified nod of the head, introducing himself as Swiftwind. The two satyrs quit teasing the oceanids and came to join them, while the oceanids swam about in the shallows, keeping a fond eye on Wulfe and a distrustful eye on the satyrs. The centaur held himself aloof from both satyrs and oceanids, though he was gracious to his prince.

Wulfe again described Raegar.

“I saw a fine warhorse carry one of the Uglies to the gate,” the centaur offered. “I don't think he was the one you describe, but I heard him tell the other Uglies that he had an urgent message for the emperor and the Uglies let him inside the gate. That's all I know.”

“You could always ask the ghouls,” one of the satyrs suggested, snickering.

The oceanids were appalled and cried out in anger, “No, our prince cannot talk to ghouls! Get away, get away and stop bothering us!”

And they splashed water on the satyrs until they grew annoyed and sauntered off.

“The satyrs are right,” said Swiftwind, keeping his voice low so that the oceanids would not hear him. “The ghouls are hungry and they have been keeping watch on their prey.”

Wulfe eyed the loathsome creatures hiding in the shadows near the gate with a shiver.

Ghouls were evil fae who gathered at the site of battles to feed on the bodies of the dead. The fae wouldn't have minded so much if the ghouls ate only dead Uglies, but during the First War between faeries and humans, the ghouls had fed on their own kind.