The Final Storm (13 page)
The dragon force from Alleble that had been diving into the enemy ranks below relented their attack at the sound of the explosion. Sir Oswyn saw the flash from across the battlefield, and raced off to see what had occurred. He found a burned-out hollow and, within, the charred frame of a catapult and the blackened remains of numerous soldiers. Sir Oswyn hadn’t seen destruction like this since witnessing the aftermath of the Wyrm Lord’s attack on Clarion. He looked up at Ludgeon’s walls, wondering what weapon the Glimpses of the Blue Mountains might have that could cause such devastation.
He brought his dragon steed to land and began to search for answers. Most of his findings were burned beyond recognition, but at last he found a half ring of charred wooden slats connected loosely to a thin iron band.
Of course!
Sir Oswyn thought.
This is not a weapon of the Blue Mountain folk!
He leaped upon his dragon and went for a closer look at one of the other catapults. It was just as he suspected. The Paragor Knights kept their barrels of oil very close to their catapults. And that gave Oswyn an idea. An idea, he thought, that might end the battle far quicker than they might ever have hoped.
He wheeled his dragon steed about and searched the skies for the leaders of their teams of dragons. He found Queen Illaria and many of the Yewland Braves first because their white dragons were easy to spot. He flew close to each of them and told them of his plans. And in turn, they each responded, “Clear the skies? Are you mad, Sir Oswyn?”
“Trust me,” was all he could say in reply.
Oswyn drove his dragon till he thought it might simply fall out of the sky from exhaustion. Back and forth across the sky he went until he was convinced that he had connected with enough of the leaders to get their forces out of the air.
He flew to a hilltop to watch, and behold, it did seem that the skies were clearing. The Paragor Knights cheered and created an intolerable clamor. They thought their ferocity had driven Alleble’s forces away. They had no idea what was about to occur.
Finally, Oswyn spotted Nock, so he drove his dragon steed to intercept him.
“Hail, archer extraordinaire!” Oswyn sang out as he steered his dragon as close as he could to Nock’s. “I see that Butterwing has put up with you so far!”
“You laugh in ignorance!” Nock yelled back. “She has bore me well into more victories than I can count!”
“Make haste then and follow me,” Oswyn yelled. “And you shall triple your victories!” Oswyn pointed to the enemy catapults, many of which were still bombarding the interior of Ludgeon with fiery projectiles. Then he explained his plan to Nock.
Oswyn reined his dragon steed and was about to take flight. He turned to Nock and warned, “You will have to be swift and your shot sure, for I do not have enough for a second try.”
“I will not miss,” Nock said with one eyebrow raised.
Oswyn took off and raced his dragon steed toward one of the catapults. The Paragor Knights saw his approach and unleashed a barrage of arrows. One bounced off his shoulder armor. Another stuck in his saddlebag. Ducking and dodging, Os steered his dragon through the storm, for he had to get close for his plan to succeed.
At last he was within range of one of the catapults and their supply wagons. Oswyn reached down to one of the saddlebags and removed a long corked tube. He yanked the cork out with his teeth and began to pour out a fine white powder. It drifted down on the air like a fine mist as Oswyn encircled the barrel-filled wagon below several times. The enemy archers finally chased Os away, but he kept pouring the white powder out as he flew from one catapult to the next.
“Fly, beast!” he yelled, and he spurred his dragon. He needed the creature’s top speed. He had used up five tubes of the powder when he came finally to the last catapult. He looked back at his work; the white powder hung in the air, crisscrossing the battlefield like a spider’s web. He just hoped that Nock was able to get in range and fire quickly enough.
Nock had gummed an arrow with a substance that would burn and not go out, even when fired with the great force of a Blackwood bow. He saw the target, a white cloud floating down toward one of the tarped wagons. “Go, Butterwing!” he cried, and then Nock was aloft. He drove his dragon toward a fire burning in the midst of the battlefield. Then he leaned over precariously in the saddle and thrust the point of the arrow into the fire as they flew just above it. “Please, King Eliam, let it light!”
The arrow came out of the fire smoldering, but not alight. Frantically, Nock pulled it up to examine it. It smoked and sputtered. Nock wasn’t sure why it didn’t kindle to a flame. But he was out of time. He fitted the arrow to the string, aimed at the falling white cloud of powder, and let the smoldering arrow fly. Then he wheeled his dragon about and raced away.
The arrow sliced through the air, and the air fed the arrow, which ignited in full flame just before entering the white cloud of falling powder.
Sir Oswyn’s fire powder erupted in a swirling inferno around the tarped wagon. The barrels of volatile oil exploded immediately, incinerating the enemy knights who stood near. Instantly the catapult became a charred black skeleton of what it once was. And so began what the Glimpses of the Blue Mountains described as the greatest fireworks display in the history of The Realm.
Fire streaked overhead this way and that, punctuated every few seconds by deafening blasts as the wagons full of oil barrels ignited and went off. Heat washed over the dragon forces of Alleble as they watched from a safe distance upon the foothills of Pennath Rugar.
“I would say we passed Paragor’s test!” Sir Rogan said, slapping Oswyn on the back. Cheers erupted, but one voice was not among them.
“Where is Mallik?” Nock asked.
A
idan lay on his back in a huge pile of crimson leaves. He opened his eyes and looked up drowsily at the towering black trunks surrounding him. Aidan blinked and sat up as if waking from a dream.
I’m back in The Realm!
he thought.
Adrenaline surging, he grabbed Fury and leaped to his feet.
Aidan remembered King Eliam’s command:
“Seek what is lost.”
He turned in a circle, trying to get his bearings. He knew he was in the forest he had seen in his vision—for never had he seen such a forest before. But where the monumental fallen tree was, he had no idea.
A light breeze stirred the leaves and brought with it the faint scent of smoke.
Fire!
Aidan thought.
The great tree was burned!
Aidan wet his fingers, felt for the wind, and sprinted off in the direction he thought he should go. It was uneven ground. Huge twisted roots snaked in and out of his path, and leaves guarded hidden pits. Aidan discovered right away that sneakers were not the best footgear for this terrain!
Still, he trudged on, the smell of smoke growing as he went. At last he came to an opening that appeared to be a tunnel made of living trees. Long, smooth black trunks and massive boughs reached overhead on both sides of the passage.
Aidan plunged into the passage, unafraid of the darkness but still wary. He kept Fury high and his other hand out to the side, feeling from trunk to trunk as he blindly made his way. The smell of fire was almost overpowering, but moments later he emerged on the other side of the passage into a vast clearing where a grand tree lay sadly in the center. It was the tree in the vision.
Aidan ran to the wide stump. Growing up from the hollow center was a sapling with tiny oval leaves of red. Pierced through by the top limbs of the sapling curled a small scrap of parchment. He clambered up on top of the stump and grabbed the parchment. He was about to jump down from the stump when he heard deep voices, and not far off !
Soldiers!
Aidan had to leave immediately, but then he spotted the sapling.
Aidan had the sudden urge to take the sapling, even though he was quite sure its roots went far down into the stump. He pulled the sapling, and to his surprise it came free as if it had leaped into Aidan’s hand. Aidan smiled and climbed back down from the stump. With Fury in one hand, the parchment and the sapling in the other, he turned to run for the tunnel. Too late. The soldiers were entering the other side of the clearing. They would see him if Aidan went for the tunnel. Instead, Aidan raced into the woods and ducked behind a wide trunk. Peeking around it, he could just see the soldiers.
“Here it is,” said the soldiers’ leader, who bore a crooked sword.
“About time,” said another. “I do not much like being so close to those bowhawkers!”
“Nor do I, Galdoth!” said the first. “They’d fill us full of shafts, like as not, for what we have done. But the master says go back to the Blackwood, so we go.”
“Right, Drang! Obedient to a fault, we are!” Galdoth replied. “Never thought I would see the day when Knights of the First Rank would be turned into errand boys. First Kearn and then Paragor himself.”
“Yes,” said a third enemy knight, a short, stout soldier who stepped away from the rest. He carried a long, barbed spear and looked warily into the woods. “But we do not even know what we are supposed to get this time.” Aidan ducked down, feeling like this knight was looking straight at him.
“Just between us, Blarrak,” said Drang, “I do not think even the master knows. ‘Go and find the great tree,’ he says. ‘We may have missed something.’ So here we are.”
Blarrak laughed, and it sounded like he coughed up something in the process. “You could have at least asked him what we should look for!”
“And have my head knocked off my shoulders, like poor Miggot?” Drang replied. “Now look alive. Search the clearing, especially around the big tree. If you find anything, come tell me right away!”
Aidan watched as the soldiers spread out. He counted eighteen knights—all wearing full armor and bearing weapons. They kept their eyes down, scouring the ground. The one with the spear, called Blarrak, tromped over close to the edge of the clearing where Aidan was hiding. He stood there scanning the quiet woods. Aidan’s heart raced. He felt sure he could handle this enemy, but if he let out a yelp, the rest would come. Eighteen against one, and Aidan with no armor . . . not very good odds.
Aidan shifted a tiny bit, and a twig snapped. He froze. Blarrak looked immediately into the woods.
“Here now! I found something!” called one of the knights who stood near the stump. To Aidan’s great relief, Blarrak turned and ran over to join the others. Aidan watched intently as they all surrounded the base of the fallen tree.
“Footprints?!” said one.
“Yeah, but what kind?” asked another.
“Certainly not shod in boots,” said Drang. “Probably one of the archers.” The knights looked warily up into the trees surrounding the clearing as if enemies might be perched all around.
“Print looks recent,” Galdoth said. “We had better get to the dragons.”
“But we have not found anything!” Drang exclaimed. “Look here. The prints are on the stump. Plainly he was looking in that hole in the center there. Get up and take a look yourself.”
Galdoth hoisted himself up onto the stump. He edged closer to the hollow in the center and looked nervously as if he feared a snake might spring out. “I cannot see anything in there.”
“Well, reach in and see!” said Drang.
“Not with my hand,” Galdoth argued. And he pulled his sword from his sheath and slowly pushed it into the hole in the center of the stump. “There!” he said. “Nothing down there. My blade goes smoothly all the way to the bottom.”
“Fine!” Drang said. “Get yourself down.”
But Galdoth couldn’t get his sword out of the stump. “It is stuck!” he said, yanking at the hilt. “Makes no sense at all!”
“Oh, you weakling!” Blarrak said. He leaped up with ease and walked over to the sword. He grinned as if he might pull the sword free with one hand. But he couldn’t. He tried again to no avail. He tossed his spear to Drang and yanked at the sword with both hands. It didn’t budge. Aidan thought this was uproariously funny, and it was all he could do to keep from bursting out laughing.
In turn and in groups, they all tried to dislodge the sword, but it would not come free. “Come on then, you slugs!” Drang said at last. “No use. Leave it! Galdoth, I guess you are glad you used your blade instead of your hand! We might just have to leave you here stuck in this cursed stump!” There was coarse laughter from everyone . . . except Galdoth.
“We have been here long enough,” one of the knights said.
“But we have nothing to show for it,” Blarrak said. “We must continue the search.”
“No,” Drang replied. “Can you not see? Whatever ‘it’ is was taken by another. A bowhawker more than likely. We cannot afford the time. Thanks to Kearn, we might already be too late.”
“The big push?” Galdoth asked.
“What else?” Drang shook his head. “I shudder to think how it will look if the Black Breath has started already and we show up late and empty-handed.”
“At least Kearn will not be disappointed,” Galdoth said. “Now that we fetched that pretty sword for his flame-haired pet!” Aidan heard this and went stock-still.