The Legend of Oescienne--The Reckoning (Book Five) Read online

  The crenellated wall overlooking the layered city below reached the king’s waist, the perfect height for him to spread his arms and place his gauntleted hands between the spaces of the jagged edge. He glanced over his shoulder and jerked his head to direct the soldiers to move closer.

  “Come, bring her so she can see,” he said in nearly hushed tones.

  Jahrra’s handlers pushed her up against the wall, the knifepoint now pressed between her shoulder blades. They held her hands behind her back in a tight grip, with one of them grabbing the base of her braid and angling her head so she gazed downward. The drop was staggering. Over five hundred feet of flat, stone barricade, then for several hundred more, the black stones of Vruuthun’s city tumbled away from the mountainside. Beyond that, the Great Red Tundra spread out like a vast tapestry of crimson, green, and gray. Slightly to the west, the Noryen River, so obviously tainted bright green from the waters draining from the Great Sulfur Sea far to the south, twined between the split ranges of the Greater Frozen Mountains.

  But it was the giant mass of the Tyrant’s army, spilling outward like a viscous, oily poison as it swallowed up the forces garbed in green and gray and brown that caught her attention in a fierce grip. From this distance, from this height, the army of the Crimson King looked like a swarm of ants, a sea of death and violence. And, so much larger than the myriad colors representing the allied armies of the Coalition. The din of battle, lessened over the miles, still scraped at her ears: the screams of men and women falling beneath a sword thrust or the flames of a Morli dragon, the scent of scorched flesh and fresh blood and smoke, the overwhelming knot of dread and fear hovering over the battlefield as real and tangible as the flocks of ravens, crows, and vultures weaving their way between Morli, Korli, and Tanaan dragons in flight.

  The roar of those soldiers seeking death and slaughter shook the foundations of Vruuthun, and in that moment, Jahrra would have given anything to have the men holding her in place slip that blade between her ribs and into her heart, if only to end her misery. Her friends were down there. Dathian, Dervit, Haedron, Sapheramin, Tollorias. King Vandrian and his sons, Farian and his forest elves, the other Korli and Tanaan dragons she’d met and come to know. And, they were terribly overwhelmed. They would not win.

  Despair threatened to break Jahrra, but still she resisted its chilling call. Yes, they may all die, and she would most likely be among them. But, if she was going to perish, if they were all going to perish, then she had better take the Tyrant and the evil god controlling him with her.

  “Isn’t it beautiful,” Ciarrohn crooned, his voice filled with wonder. He tilted his head back, his eyes drifting shut, as he scented the air like some ancient predator. “Ahhh, the enticing scent of torment. There are many ways to wrench such delicious emotions from the peoples inhabiting this world, but nothing quite creates such a potent elixir as war.”

  Jahrra jerked her head to the side to stare at him, the soldier holding her hair allowing her that much movement for the moment. He stood now with his arms crossed, his gaze lowering once again to focus entirely on the carnage taking place so far below. Although he did not turn his head and meet her eyes, Jahrra knew what she would find there. The god of hate and violence traipsing just beneath the surface to watch his victory.

  “You are nothing but a coward, Ciarrohn,” she managed, her ruined voice scraping against her throat, “hiding up here in your fortress, far away and safe from the danger of battle. I never knew such a powerful god might fear a simple horde of elves.”

  That got his attention. He whipped his head around, black, swirling eyes burning crimson. A runnel of fear tripped down Jahrra’s spine, but she was beyond succumbing to such weaknesses now. Not when there was nothing left to lose.

  “Do you not fear death yourself, human?”

  Mustering up what courage she had left, Jahrra shook her head in defiance. “Not any longer. Do you think I’d want to live after you’ve killed all my friends? I know I’m going to die today, but before I do, I will destroy you.”

  Ciarrohn threw his head back and laughed, those standing closest to them joining their master. Jahrra didn’t flinch, didn’t take her gaze from him even as the knife point pressed a little harder against her back. She couldn’t say why she had thrown those words at him, for she still did not have that elusive answer. But something, instinct, perhaps, or maybe Ethoes herself working through her mortal savior, had pushed her to speak them.

  “Oh no, my dear child, you won’t die today. Do you think I’m ready to be done toying with you?”

  He moved in closer, one hand reaching out to take Jahrra by the chin. She sucked in a breath through her nose, but kept her eyes locked with his. She would not let him intimidate her. He leaned in close, his mouth only a few inches from her ear.

  “I will crush your pathetic army beneath my boot. I will kill your dragon slowly, oh so slowly, allowing him to watch as I play with you. Then, when he finally gives in to death, I will drape his skinned carcass from the ramparts of this castle and use his hide to fashion a new set of armor. His head will hang above my throne, a testament to my might and power, and you, my dear will live out your mortal life, and perhaps even longer, regretting every second of defiance you have cast my way.”

  Jahrra drew in several short breaths through her nose, her own eyes burning with anger and fear.

  Ciarrohn pulled away from her and let his arm drop. He smiled, a flash of white teeth and malice. Calm had returned to his eyes, but the god was not far away.

  “Until then, let us enjoy the show and await the lost prince’s arrival. I have special plans for him, too.”

  He cast his arm out over the side of the castle wall and the soldiers turned her back to witness the battle, both aerial and terrestrial, as it raged on. Jahrra couldn’t bear to watch, so she shut her eyes, a fresh tear escaping from one of them and streaming down her dirt and sweat stained face. She didn’t know how long she stood there, tears flowing freely, her eyes shut to the display of death and suffering.

  “Master,” someone whispered from her right. “Master, what is that, just beyond the edges of the enemy’s battle lines?”

  Jahrra’s eyes flashed open, then narrowed as she strained to see what the man was talking about. Beside her, the Tyrant leaned forward as well.

  Several miles behind the rear flank of the Coalition’s army, the horizon began to boil. What on Ethoes …? Jahrra blinked several times, but the distance was just too great.

  “Majesty!” someone on top of the lookout towers cried down. “A cavalry approaches!”

  The man must have had a spyglass, because it took several more heartbeats of glaring for Jahrra to barely make out the shapes of horses, no, not horses, some other form of beast, charging fast towards the southern edge of the Coalition’s forces. Her heart leapt in her chest, her knees growing weak with hope. Good gods and goddesses of Ethoes. Was this another army coming to reinforce theirs? The Tyrant’s obvious, irritated confusion coaxed that flame of hope back to life in her soul.

  The mass moved ever closer, large animals carrying tall forms she was unfamiliar with. Not hoofed animals. These creatures moved differently. More sinuous, more loping in their pace. When they were a half mile from reaching the allies of Ethoes, the force split, arching around the Coalition fighters on both sides. The two lines slammed into the waves of the Red Flange like battering rams. Although still quite a distance away, the sound carried up to the castle, along with a combined yowling screech.

  “I don’t believe it ...” Boriahs breathed from somewhere just behind her. “Nephaari warriors astride war-trained lennux.”

  Jahrra sucked in a breath. If this new force were the Nephaari from the south, then … Before the name formed in her mind, she spotted him, flying above the giant cats and their masters. A gold speck glittering brightly against the dark clouds. Kehllor.

  Beside her, the Tyrant snarled, a sound half frustration, half triumph.

  No. Oh, no. Jahrra wished
she could turn to look at Jaax, to glean what she could from his eyes, but the soldiers held her fast.

  “Sire!”

  Cierryon spun around as one of the guards stationed to the west approached, his armor rattling as he ran across the terrace. The other soldiers standing around parted to let him through.

  “Sire,” the frantic guard wheezed, clearly out of breath. He waved a hand in the direction from where he’d come, trying to get his king to look up to the sky. “Dragons! Dragons have been spotted to the west!”

  The Crimson King landed a heavy kick to the frantic guard’s abdomen, making him keel over. He whirled and snarled, “Who has sent dragons to the west?!”

  The men and mages shook their heads in denial.

  “Master,” Boriahs said carefully, his voice going oddly quiet, “those are not Morli dragons.”

  The men holding Jahrra released their grip, backing away from her as realization began to dawn upon all those gathered on the fortress roof. Gasps and the murmuring of those feeling the first tingle of fear skittered between the men. Finally free, Jahrra backed away from the wall and cast her gaze to the sky … and nearly fainted with a burst of hope so brilliant it almost seared the backs of her eyes. High above the jagged peaks of the western arm of the Great Frozen Mountains, resembling a large flock of enormous snowy albatrosses, soared a horde of familiar dragons.

  “Ice dragons, your majesty,” Boriahs breathed, breaking into Jahrra’s thoughts. He dropped his arm, the spyglass clattering to the stones beneath his feet, and turned haunted eyes onto his king.

  Denaeh had spoken the truth. Jahrra wanted to cry, but instead she whirled around, a smile of pure optimism lighting up her battered face, and locked eyes with Jaax. The same glaring hope shone in his gaze as well. Help had come to them at last, in the form of two allies they never thought to count on. Perhaps, there was a chance they’d win this conflict, after all, for the king of the Creecemind, and the lost prince of the Tanaan, had arrived.

  -Chapter Twenty-Seven-

  Kehllor the Brave

  Dervit pressed his back against the wall, hands clamped over his ears, no longer able to stomach the display taking place on the rooftop courtyard below. For the past hour or more, he had watched and listened to the Tyrant and his soldiers taunt Jahrra and torture Jaax. He had made his way up the inside wall of one of the four towers crowning the castle, one offering a perfect view from an arrow slot thirty feet above the Crimson King’s throne. Directly across from his hideout, he could now just make out the Tyrant in his heavy, crimson cloak. And standing beside him was the mercenary, Boriahs. Dervit bared his teeth in a silent hiss. He would not soon forget that cruel face, the ugly brand upon his cheek unmistakable.

  Jahrra stood beside the Tyrant, pinned there by two of his goons. He couldn’t hear the conversation between them, but Dervit was certain the Crimson King was reminding her of her friends who fought on the battlefield far below. It turned Dervit’s stomach just to think about it.

  If what you just witnessed below wasn’t enough to make your skin crawl, he thought morosely. Whatever the outcome of this war, if he survived, he doubted he’d ever shake the images of his friends being tormented loose from his memories. They would haunt him for the rest of his life.

  A flash of movement, more red in the sea of mostly black, caught Dervit’s eye, tearing his attention away from Jahrra and even the ever-stoic Jaax chained to the wall nearby. Dervit narrowed his eyes, only to snap them wide open when he realized it wasn’t another one of the Tyrant’s soldiers, but a woman. For a heart-stopping second, he thought it was Denaeh, but as the figure slinked around the edge of the throne carved into the side of the mountain, he realized he’d been mistaken. This woman was taller, her hair a much darker shade of red than the Mystic’s and her dress far too fine. She didn’t seem interested in the Tyrant or Jahrra, but instead she stared at Jaax, as if she could throw fire with her gaze alone. Dervit shivered. Even from so far away, he could feel the malice pouring off her. Clearly, she was in the king’s favor, but for how long? And, who was she, that she’d be up here with the king and his army of soldiers and mages? The woman crept closer to Jaax, but the dragon was clearly ignoring her, his emerald eyes pinned on Jahrra. Even when the woman began speaking, it made no difference.

  Dervit shook his head and turned away. Not your problem, he reminded himself, risking a glance out the narrow gap in the stones behind him. Good. No one had discovered him yet, but he wondered how much longer he had to wait.

  Not until you see the ice dragons, the Mystic had told him.

  So, he stayed put. A minute passed, then another. Still, the Tyrant gazed down upon the roiling battlefield below. Still, Jahrra was held there, forced to endure it. Just when Dervit thought he couldn’t sit still any longer, one of the Tyrant’s soldiers burst out onto the rooftop, shouting about an approaching army. Heart in his throat, Dervit snapped to attention and peered out over the ramparts. Yes, another sizeable force moved just to the south of the Coalition’s army, but they were too far away to distinguish. Not dragons, though.

  Dervit lifted a fingernail to his teeth and began to gnaw away at it. He couldn’t take this much longer. Fortunately, he didn’t have to. Not five minutes later, another soldier came forward, this time announcing the approach of dragons. Dervit stuck his head through the arrow slit, and in the distance over the western mountains, he saw them: Creecemind dragons.

  The limbit didn’t pause for a moment before bolting from his hiding place and flying, as fast as he could, back through the narrow passages he’d taken to climb to the tower’s top.

  Dervit had never moved so fast in his life, and considering he had to squeeze between several small gaps and through a good number of rusty drains, that was saying much. Fortunately, his superstitious nature was there to guide him. Had he not taken note of all the taboos he’d broken to reach his destination, he would not have remembered the way back. After what felt like an eternity, despite his swiftness, he found himself climbing through the ceiling grate that dropped him only a few feet before the doorway where the soldiers had slept earlier that day. Luck was on his side, for the corridors were deserted, all the men called above ground to fight the incoming Creecemind dragons. He found the keys in no time and was slipping through the drain in the room where the Mystic and Magehn were kept.

  “Dervit!” Denaeh breathed as the limbit worked frantically to find the right key.

  Dervit panted as he moved from one key to the other, each one fitting but not turning the lock. Finally, one worked. He twisted the key, and the door creaked open.

  Both Denaeh and Ellyesce were alert and looking much better than before. The effects of the mage diamond, the Mystic told him when he approached their cell.

  “We are ready to join the fight,” Ellyesce stated, his eyes hard.

  The limbit climbed the bars and proceeded to test keys in the cage’s lock. The static crackle of building magic made Dervit’s hair stand on end, but he kept at his task and finally, one of the keys turned. The lock popped open, and Denaeh, her hands reaching through the bars, helped snap it free.

  The pair left their prison, then searched the guard room, gathering what weapons they could carry. Ellyesce tossed a dagger to Dervit.

  “You may need this upstairs,” he said, with a fierce look to his eyes.

  Dervit gaped, but the elf pressed a hand to his shoulder. “You are with us, Dervit. Until the very end.”

  The limbit looked up at him with bright eyes, then pressed his lips together and ducked his head once.

  “Let’s go,” Denaeh stated. “We are needed.”

  Without a second glance behind them, the three companions ran to join their friends.

  * * *

  Creecemind dragons. The Tyrant’s soldier had said Creecemind dragons.

  Jahrra stumbled backward away from the soldiers who had been holding her, and fell to the ground. She gasped at the slight pain, but remained motionless as chaos broke free all around her
. The soldiers and mages, exposed on the rooftop, swarmed erratically like terrified mice as the first ice dragon bore down upon them, spitting frost that froze several people in place. Jahrra inhaled a breath of shock as one soldier crashed to the ground before her, his body shattering like glass. Ethoes above. She scrambled away, afraid she might get caught up in the direct path of the icy breath of a Creecemind dragon. Shaking away the shock of suddenly being very much involved in the fight, Jahrra scrambled to her feet and ran to grab her sword. It was at the bottom of the arena, lying next to the lifeless form of Keiron. She shoved thoughts of the dead elf to the back of her mind as she took the steps two at a time.

  Once her sword was in her hand, she climbed back up the stairs then turned to face Jaax. Her guardian was struggling against his bonds, so Jahrra sprinted towards him, gritting her teeth against the discomfort of her many wounds. Shiroxx, that traitorous ingrate, was nowhere to be found. Maybe she succumbed to the icy breath of one of the dragons.

  “Jaax!” Jahrra sobbed as she reached him.

  She dropped her sword and carefully unpinned one wing, then the other. Jaax groaned as his wings, as useless as a hatchling’s, drooped to the ground. The bones were completely shattered.

  “Oh, Jaax, I’m so sorry,” Jahrra sobbed.

  He only shook his head and gave her a fierce look. She sniffled and wiped her nose, paying little attention to the screams and clamoring of the soldiers nearby. They were too busy avoiding the Creecemind to worry about her and the broken Tanaan dragon.

  “I’ve got to get you free,” she breathed.

  Jahrra tried breaking the chains with her sword, but to no avail. They were too thick, and she didn’t have the key to the locks. When the broehr, who had been distracted by the ice dragons, noticed her trying to set Jaax free, however, they charged. Jaax roared against the muzzle and managed to nudge Jahrra aside. She fell and slid towards the Tyrant’s throne as Jaax distracted the beasts who had meant to kill her. Jahrra would have rolled to her feet and gone after the monsters with her sword, but she turned then, just enough, to catch sight of something odd.