The Dark Glory War (44 page)

I dashed forward as the hoargoun began to fall, and spun into another attack. I slashed through the back of its left thigh, letting Temmer’s tip barely score the bone. I leaped into the air and landed on thesullancirVs buttocks as its hips hit the ground, then I scurried up its back. It tried to keep itself off the ground with its arms, but a quick slash up through the left armpit, and then some sawing with Temmer, and that arm came away.

Thesullanciri crashed down to the left and flung me off, but I landed easily, tucked into a ball and rolled. At the end of it I came up on my feet and danced back toward the creature’s head. It reared up, pushing off with its right arm. It managed to raise its head up about six feet. Though thesullanciri was huge and ugly and reeked of death, I dashed in and stabbed upward, driving Temmer through the empty left eye-socket and deep into whatever it had remaining for a brain.

A dark, stinking fluid gushed out, drenching me. I tried to tug Temmer free but could not, and the greasy ooze made my hand slip from the sword’s hilt. Thesullanciri’s thrashing tore the blade from my grip and I sailed back, bouncing down hard on the cobbles. I spun, pummeled by fear, and watched the hoargoun heave itself to its feet.

It was a testament to the fearful strength of the creature that with only one arm it could push itself upright. The right leg straightened and the giant would have remained upright, save that without a left arm it could not balance itself, nor could it brace itself against the gateway. Its head smashed into the battlement above the gate, then thesullandri listed to the right, drove the stump of its left leg into the ground, and fell full forward for a second time.

Thesullandri % head slammed hard into the courtyard’s paving stones. I heard a pop and a crack, then saw the tip of Temmer’s blade poke up through the back of the giant’s skull. A second later the sword’s hilt, with only a couple of inches of blade attached, skittered and danced across the stones and spun to a rest near my right hand.

The gibberer horde at the gateway howled and, brandishing their longknives, sprinted forward.

“Hawkins, stay down!”

I flattened as ballistae behind me shot, speeding spears and arrows above thesullandri’s corpse. The volleys tore holes in the Aurolani line, but gibberers still came hard. I tried to scramble to my feet, but the Dark Lancer’s blood made the ground slippery and kept me down. I sprawled there, with two inches of broken sword all I had to defend myself.

Then Lord Norrington appeared above me, sword in hand, and slashed the face from the gibberer closest to me. He parried another blade aside, kicked the gibberer carrying it in the gut, then crushed the creature’s head with his pommel. Lord Norrington’s blade swung in a broad arc, cleaving skulls, severing limbs, opening bellies, and spilling blood—one man against a wall, holding them back from me.

I rolled to my right, getting past the arc of his blade, then appropriated a longknife. I twisted to the left, lunging across my body to throat-stick a gibberer going at Lord Norrington’s back. It gurgled and died, but not before I had to kick it away from clutching at his legs. I settled in at Lord Norrington’s back. He acknowledged me with a nod. Together we stood there and slew anything within reach.

We should have died because the whole of the Aurolani horde poured through that gateway—at least it seemed so to me. I heard men and women shouting all around us. Bows thrummed, catapults cracked, swords cut, axes chopped, spears stabbed, and magick sizzled, yet all I could see around Lord Norrington and me were gibberers—rank upon rank of them flowing around us like a stream around a rock. Bodies were deposited around us like silt, building up a barrier that couldn’t be crossed, and our blades still licked out to inflict as much damage as we could.

With our forces scattered, I thought we had lost the day. As it turned out, though, men and women now free of fear returned to the battle. They’d been so enwrapped in terror that anything seemed a relief and even a change for the better. The absence of fear substituted for courage in many, so they returned to fight and the river flowing around us slowed, then began to thin and reverse course.

The thunder of hoofbeats on paving stones filled the courtyard as Augustus and his cavalry charged into the gibberer throng through an opening they’d torn in barricades. Archers on the walls, or raised on any high point like stairs or nearby rooftops, shot down into the gibberers. Combative roars dwindled to painful squeals then, somewhere distant, trumpets began to blow a recall and the gibberers fled.

A cheer arose from our people, but it lasted only a moment. As if summoned by the same trumpet that had sounded an Aurolani retreat, the dragon took wing and soared above us. It screamed defiantly, then tightened its circle and descended toward the Crown Tower.

I saw in an instant what had happened. Chytrine had wished to raze Fortress Draconis, for it was an affront to her. It had been built after Kirun’s defeat to forever challenge any invasion from the north. Its very presence was a pebble in her shoe and she had been determined to have it gone. It had proved more formidable than she had anticipated, however, and with her generals all dead, her army began to fall apart.

She had not, however, lost sight of the great prize in Fortress Draconis. Three pieces of the DragonCrown had been housed there. Along with the one portion she already possessed, these three would give her half of it. The power to control one dragon had already proved devastating, and using that dragon to get the other three pieces would be simple.

We had won the battle on the ground, but she would have her prize.

The dragon flared his wings out, then settled on the tower. All four of his claws found ample purchase on the buttresses, while the tip of the tower just barely scraped against his belly. He craned his head back, roaring triumphantly, then snaked his long neck forward and down. Like a dog devouring a hen’s egg, the dragon snapped his jaws shut on the tower’s roof, crushing it and tearing it away. He flung his head back and forth, scattering debris all over the fortress, then let the lead-sheathed remnants fly deep out into the ocean.

I remember two things with crystal clarity from that moment. One was the light from the crown fragments playing over the dragon’s golden belly scales. The dragon looked down and in beneath himself at them, almost with the gentleness of a bitch nuzzling suckling puppies. The light seemed to dazzle it for a moment.

The other thing I recall was the serene expression on Dothan Cavarre’s face as, with the rest of us, he stared up at the tower top. Though the others around him had their mouths open in horror and defeat, he watched peacefully and expectantly. He knew what would happen and waited to see if centuries of preparation would pay off.

While placing items of great value in a tower made sense for men, it was because we were creatures who did not soar. Hiding the DragonCrown fragments at the top of a tower, on the other hand, made no sense especially if it were a dragon that might come to steal them away. From the very first the architects who had planned the fortress realized this, and they took precautions which the centuries had hidden from everyone save the Draconis Barons and a few trusted aides.

The removal of the tower’s roof loosed four massive counterweights that fell down through shafts built in the tower’s external walls. These counterweights pulled cables magickally spun of steel. Those cables were linked through a pulley system to a needle-sharp steel spike over thirty feet in length that had been housed in the central shaft of the circular stairway that ran up the tower. As the weights fell toward the earth, the spike flew up from the depths. It stabbed up through the firepit in the Crown Chamber and pierced the dragon’s heart.

The dragon leaped up and away, and had it been free of Chytrine’s control, it might have gotten off with only a pinking. It beat its wings hard twice, lifting it from the tower and backing it to the north, then its tail twisted and lashed in pain. The dragon roared again, though muted and abruptly cut off. Then one wing flailed, the other half-furled, and the dragon fell from the sky.

It hit the ground in the new, man-made lake north of the fortress. None of us could see it crash down, though droplets of water from the splash reached us even as far away as we were. We all stood there in stunned silence, none of us certain about what we had seen. Then, from here and there, someone cursed or shouted, and cheers began to drown out the moans and mews and whimpers of the wounded and dying. I began to laugh and hugged Lord Norrington, and he, me.

All of us, the survivors of the siege, yelped for joy. And then, just as quickly as pandemonium had erupted, it subsided, and we set about the brutal task of driving the Aurolani host from our land.

nnhe dragon died just after noon. Prince Augustus led the I fortress’s cavalry in a series of harassing charges at the 1 Aurolani rear guard, but Chytrine refused to let a retreat turn into a rout. She kept vylaens and temeryces active on the flanks, so that when the cavalry charged at the gibberer formations, the threat of attacks from their sides made them break off their runs at the enemy. Even so, the horsemen drove the guards off the dragonel, allowing a small squad of Nalesk cavalry to capture the weapon. Augustus’ people then chased the Aurolani forces into the woods and onto the road north for two hours, then returned.

By the time he came back, the Aurolani fleet had broken up and we were able to land our own ships. Better yet, Oriosan Scouts, Muroson Heavy Guards, and Sebcian Light Foot arrived from the south. Their intent had been to lift the siege, but their presence as reinforcements was more than welcome.

I sought Leigh to apologize for what I had done. I headed first for the aid station where I’d found him after the previous fight. The place was filled to overflowing with the wounded, some who just sat glassy-eyed, staring off at nothing, others keening in voices no long human, but filled with pain. Bodies were sprawled everywhere. Men clutched at me as I moved past, mistaking me for friends. I slipped their grasping hands and continued my search.

Finally, in the small room that had housed him before, I found Leigh. I caught a glimpse of him through the doorway. He sat up on the bed, shivering—at least, I told myself he was shivering, not suffering from the palsy for which Temmer was the cure. Grey blankets enshrouded him, emphasizing the pallor of his skin. He sat there, rocking back and forth, clutching to himself a stick, caressing it as if it were his sword. Speaking to it.

I made as if to enter the room, but a hand caught my wrist, spinning me about. Jilandessa, haggard and bloodstained, shook her head at me. “You can’t go in there.”

“But, Leigh …”

“Physically he is well, Hawkins.” The elf lowered her eyes for a moment. “There are other wounds I cannot heal. They will take time.”

“Perhaps I can—”

“No, Hawkins. Seeing you would not help him right now.” She clasped me by the shoulders. “You have to give him time… .”

Her words, though offered softly and sympathetically, left me hollow inside. As per the price paid by those who wielded Temmer, Leigh had been broken in his last battle. The problem was, I’d done the breaking. I’d broken his trust, I’d betrayed him and, for the life of me, I couldn’t imagine a way to repair that damage.

I glanced back over my shoulder at Leigh, at his swaying, and a shiver shook me. “Thank you, Jilandessa. Take good care of him.” She nodded in reply, then let me slip past and out into the sunlight.

Finding Nay was easier, and I was pleased to see him in good spirits despite his waiting at an aid station for help. He sat on a broken piece of wall with his left leg extended before him. His left anlde had been savaged. Blood well stained the bandages wrapped around it and had even soaked into his trousers. He held his maul the way an old man might hold a cane and smiled at me.

“Kill asullanciri and you’re not hurt? Youare a hero, Hawkins.”

“Just a survivor, Nay. What happened to you?”

He laughed through pain. “Broke gibberers left and right. Had one crawl forward and lock his jaws on my ankle. Crushed it. Don’t hurt much sitting.”

“They’ll fix you up.” I glanced back at the blockhouse where Leigh was recuperating. “Have you seen Leigh yet?”

He nodded solemnly. “Hobbled over. He’s going to live.”

“So I heard.” I glanced down at the ground. “They said my seeing him wouldn’t help.”

Nay glanced down at the ground. “He’s hurt in the head, Hawkins, mixed up and afraid. Don’t help much Scrainwood sitting with him up there.”

“I missed that. Great.” I shook my head and turned Tem-mer’s hilt over in my hands. “I know I shouldn’t have—”

Nay struck the ground hard with the butt of his maul. “Stop that talk now. You did what we needed. Leigh knows it. Told him so; think he heard it.” Nay dropped his voice to a whisper. “Back that first day of our Moon Month I prayed for courage. Kedyn gave it to me, but when thatsullanciri came near, it failed. Trembled and shook, I did; I peed myself.”

He laughed and raised his left foot. “Only good thing about the bite was it holed my boot. No more sloshing around.”

“Silver lining to a cloud.”

Nay’s eyes hardened as he reached out and took the hilt from me. “I’da shit myself, too, when it come through the gate, but I seen you coming round the corner with Temmer. Saw you kill it. Saw the sword break. Been thinking on that and have an idea.”

“Why it broke?”

He nodded slowly. “Sword was said to break everyone in their last battle. Don’t know about others, but Leigh, he’s broke. He took the blade, hoping to be a hero. For himself he took it, so it could break him. You, you took it not for yourself, but to save others. It had no hold to break you, soit broke.”

A chill ran down my spine. “I don’t know that you’re right, but I’d be happy if you are. I can’t say I’m sorry it’s gone.”

“It was a sword. In the right hands it was dangerous.” He tilted his head and smiled. “In the wrong hands it was more dangerous.”

I nodded slowly, then held up a hand to stop him from giving the hilt back to me. “No, keep it. I don’t want it. I don’t imagine the blade can be repaired, but even if it could, after what I did to Leigh, I don’t think I’m the man to carry it.”