Draconis' Bane (28 page)

“Too right lad.” Fred
laughed, rubbing his right shoulder.

The longbow required
more power to draw and an hour of pulling the great oak timber back
must have been hell for the older man.

Still the force below
numbered tens of thousands, but the giants and their large rolling
towers were held back. Porters came running up with food and water
for the soldiers, a slender girl not much older than Mina came
running up the nearest stairs. She pushed her way through the
milling defenders and threw her arms around a smiling William. Her
knuckles were white with the effort of keeping hold on Tristan’s
cousin.

Finally she released
her hold, tears streaming down her lovely face as William turned to
his cousin. “Tristan, meet my wife; Gail.”

“M’lady.” Tristan
nodded. She was a slip of a girl, but he was shocked when she
hugged him in turn, nearly knocking the wind out of him.

“I’m sorry we
couldn’t come visit you while you were sick,” She began, wiping the
tears from her face. “I was pregnant and not up to travel.”

“Don’t even think
twice about it. I was in no shape to entertain anyway.” He replied
laughing as Williams face split into another characteristic
grin.

A horn sounded from
the enemy camp again and William turned serious, shooing his wife
from the battlements. He watched as she ran down the stairs and out
of sight. William turned to find Tristan grinning at the
display.

“Oh shut up.” He
laughed as he pushed the Prince’s shoulder. The pair drew beads on
the nearest target as Fred shouted for them to hold.

The sun set behind
the defenders and Tristan started to fully appreciate the numbers
gathered against them. Four times during the day a force of
thousands threw themselves against their walls. Their scaling
ladders were raised only once. The defenders had easily repulsed
the attack using pole arms to push the ladders away as the archers
filled the attackers climbing them with arrows, or dumped pots of
boiling pitch on them.

Clouds had been
gathering all day and finally the rain began to fall as the enemy
soldiers doused their dead in fuel. Once they had completely their
grisly task, they made their way back behind the breastwork they’d
erected between battles. One of their archers fired a flaming arrow
into the middle of the dead, setting them a blaze and raising a God
awful stench up the walls of Heatherington Keep. Inhuman howls
pierced the thick night air and coupled with the smell it caused
more than one soldier to lose their composure and vomit over the
side of the wall.

Fred turned to the
boys and motioned for them to retire to the hall. He left a
sergeant in charge of the watch and they quit the walls for the
night. Porters ran along the parapets, arms laden with oil stained
cloaks, which they passed out to the soldiers left to keep watch.
Tristan was handed a black cloak which he immediately wrapped
around his tired shoulders and pulled the hood up over his head as
they walked towards the hall.

The mood in the keep
was guarded, most of the men were tired, their women beside
themselves with fear for losing them. The children old enough to
understand the risks had been pressed into service as porters,
which they gladly accepted, if only to keep watch over their
fathers. Those children deemed too young, stared at their
surroundings with a mixture of awe and fear. Their eyes shot wide
every time they heard the horns and howls from the enemies’ camp.
Quite a few of them cried, for the sounds that carried from the
field even made the stout of heart fearful.

Then the singing
began.

War chants, howls,
inanimate cries to God’s Tristan didn’t care to learn about echoed
all around them. All night, without end, the wailing and screeching
continued. The defenders tossed and turned, pulling pillows and
blankets over their heads trying in vain to at least muffle the
sounds of the dark night. Babies cried and small children sat up,
their eyes wide in terror and women huddled together in packs for
warmth.

The only people able
to sleep were the warriors, so tired from battle that they passed
out for hours on end only to be woken by a high note or a scream
cutting through the din. They would re-adjust themselves and
quickly be back to their snoring.

Everyone experienced
troubled dreams and by the fourth day tempers were running thin.
Small fights broke out among the defenders hourly. Simple
misunderstandings brewed into duels in the streets and shouting
matches in the courtyards.

For seven days there
were no attacks, only the incessant chanting and howling. The
defenders all had similar dark circles under their eyes. Their
faces had all noticeably paled and there seemed to be no desire to
do much of anything except wallow in their own self pity.
Everyone’s nerves were at a breaking point, the guards stationed to
watch over the attackers slept more often than not.

Tristan had taken to
wallowing in his own grief, angry with himself for a myriad of
things largely out of his control. From the loss of his men during
that first mission down the Western Road to his latest failure in
Guis he descended into fear and doubt, much as the other Suttenites
had.

The morning of the
eighth day the songs stopped abruptly. The Prince shook his head
slightly, already beginning to feel better about the state of
things. Around him most of the defenders were still on the verge of
tears and suicide. Many of the citizens had to be locked away to
keep them from throwing themselves off the walls and towers.
Tristan’s mood continued to improve, though those around him seemed
to be un-phased by the change.

It didn’t take long
for the young Prince to puzzle out the goal of the attackers and it
was as brutally obvious as it was subtle. Anguish.

Dragon blood seemed
to block against direct attacks to the walls, however the
infinitely more productive magic employed to work the defenders
into a state of total despair seemed to be doing more damage than
the attackers could ever hope to mount on the fortifications.

Tristan stood up in
the corner he’d occupied in the main chamber of the central
building and shook the cobwebs from his mind. Warmth seemed to be
returning to his body so he shook the black cloak off of his
shoulders. He looked around the large hall to find that all of his
allies were stuck in their own private torment.

Some of the men were
simply shaking, while others openly wept. Two of them lay dead,
their own bloody daggers in their limp dead palms. He slowly walked
over to Knight-Captain Robertson who was shaking and pale, huddled
against the wall near him. His eyes were wide and frightened, his
pupils completely dilated. Tristan snapped his fingers in front of
Robertson’s eyes and was greeted with no response.

The young Prince put
his hand on the Captains shoulder, calling his name; “Lance.” He
whispered.

The Captain’s eyes
blinked, he slowly shook his head and looked up at Tristan. “What
happened?” He asked.

“I’m not sure.”
Tristan replied. “I assume that irritating chanting was some sort
of spell.” He continued, motioning around the room with a sweep of
his arm.

“I feel like all the
happiness has been drained out of me.” Captain Robertson replied
weakly.

Then a horn sounded
and war cries echoed from the gathered host.

Tristan’s eyes went
wide with fear. He shook the Captain. “Get up man! We’ve got to get
these people to the damned wall,
now!
”

The pair of them
stumbled over to Kincade and the Captain shook the corporals’
shoulder.

Nothing happened.

Captain Robertson
shook again.

Still nothing.

Abandoning all
pretenses Tristan grabbed the man and shook him, the moment he
touched him Kincade's eye began to blink. A thought occurred to
Tristan immediately as he ran around the room shaking the remaining
people in the chamber awake. Once everyone groggily got to their
feet, Tristan realized that he was the cure for everyone’s
melancholy.

“I can’t wake
everyone in the entire city up! They’re attacking now, we don’t
have the time!” He shouted, panicking.

A distant roar echoed
throughout the city, eyes shot open all around the hall as soldiers
shook the sadness that gripped them. Tristan sighed in relief as
everyone inside the chamber ran for the doors and burst through
them into the courtyard. A white dragon lazily dipped through the
parting rain clouds roaring again. People all around them, who’d
been in similar dazes, began to stir. The dragon playfully circled
the western gate as the sun began to clear the clouds above. The
dragon dipped down coming in low towards the courtyard they were
gathered in.

It beat its large
wings, slowing its descent as it pushed over barrels filled with
rain water and sent more than one soldier falling backwards in the
mud. The dragon chuckled with a warm deep voice.

“Well my young
friend.” It began. “Looks like you’re in over your head again.” He
joked.

The Chieftain came up
beside Tristan putting his hand on the young Prince’s shoulder. He
gaped in wide wonder at the dragon before them. “Socolis?” He
muttered.

“Hello Frederick.”
The dragon boomed.

“It
is
you!”
He sputtered.

Socolis tilted his
head back and laughed jovially again. “Yes old friend. Although,
you’re looking the older now aren’t you?” He replied.

“Age’ll do that….” He
chuckled.

“It will indeed.” The
dragon agreed.

“Now, it appears as
though we have some unwanted visitors young Prince Tristan.” He
said turning his head towards Tristan.

The Prince had become
distracted, trying to memorize everything about this dragon. The
last one he’d seen had been at dusk, this one was in full daylight
and Tristan was keen to commit as much to memory as possible. This
dragon was smaller, white, and decidedly un-serpent like. He
appeared to be more like a large scaly winged horse and quite good
natured.

Socolis was still
large though, being close to twenty feet tall, his wings were short
and wide, and his legs were long and dangerously taloned. He had
large overlapping scales all along his belly and lower neck, a face
rather like a lizards and a long, muscular, deadly looking
tail.

“Well, quit gawking
boy.” The dragon laughed. “Get up here.” He lowered one of his
massive forelegs for Tristan to climb up.

While he enjoyed
riding his horse, this was something completely alien to Tristan’s
experience. He hesitated, not knowing exactly how to sit, or what
to hold onto. The dragon must have sensed his doubts.

“Don’t worry, you
won’t slip off.” He explained. “Trust me.”

Not entirely knowing
why, Tristan simply nodded his head and mounted the dragons back.
He looked back towards the shocked Chieftain.

“Uncle! Get the men
to the walls!” He shouted as Socolis spread his wings and took
flight with a quick leap.

The feeling was
electric, being on the back of the white dragon felt natura.
Socolis dipped and spun around in the air, much to Tristan’s
enjoyment.

Let’s see…where to
begin?
The dragon mused telepathically.

Can we fly south
and then come north fast and low setting fire to those damned
ladders?
Tristan sent.

How fast would you
like to go?
The dragon asked, clearly amused by the idea.

As fast as you
can!
Tristan answered excitedly.

The dragon’s laugh
echoed off the walls of the keep as he dipped down, breathing short
bursts of fire at the ladders that had been raised to the walls.
Below the Suttenites fought with all of their might as attackers
swarmed over the walls. Two of the rolling towers rumbled forward
as Tristan urged Socolis to come by for another pass. Arrows sped
over their heads as the white dragon set fire to the two towers
rolling forward. Already most of the enemy forces were in full
route, complete disarray causing allies to trample one another as
they fled for safety. Socolis and Tristan flew off to the east.

Where are we
going?
Tristan sent.

There are some
things you need to know my young friend.
Socolis replied.

But, the
battle…
Tristan said with concern.

This is more
important. Besides, your friends can turn back the remaining
attackers. This won’t take long anyway.
The dragon
insisted.

Tristan sighed. He
couldn’t force the dragon to turn around even if he wanted to, and
the ground was much too far to make a jump for it.

Thoughtful is it?
That’s a pleasant change.
The dragon chuckled.

They flew on for a
few more minutes until Tristan sensed their decent. They were
landing in a small clearing in the middle of a dense forest, a
small patch of thick grass marked their destination. The pair
landed and Tristan leapt from the dragons back onto the soft grass
below. Socolis lay down, shifting slightly to one side.

Would you mind my
young friend? I think I have one of their arrows caught between a
couple plates…
The dragon asked, rolling over slightly.

Tristan approached to
find that something was caught in the dragons’ scales, though it
was considerably larger than an arrow. Tristan grabbed hold of the
spear and pulled with all of his strength. It came free, covered in
blood, but otherwise intact. A small pool of dark crimson liquid
began to form as the dragon rolled back over.

Worry not young
Prince. I’ll heal.
He chuckled.

“You needn’t be so
careless with your life Socolis.” A voice called from the tree
line.

“Bah, you’re too
cautious old friend.” Socolis replied dismissively.