The Reckoning, page 18
Kaden’s last meeting with the group was a solemn occasion on the bank of Edan River, near the Bearah’s cave. They had shared a meal of smoked fish and washed it down with Norvak’s best wine. They agreed that their wisest course was to separate. Kaden would search for Radoch and the rebel army, then send word to Hammer.
To Etan, Kaden had entrusted his second black-hilted dagger, the one to which Phalae held the twin. The Captain of the Elisians would seek out the Chief of the Blue Panther to repay his debt of honor and Ohma would summon Gahna-Tah, the Dragon.
It was hoped the Dragon would carry a message to Etan’s grandfather, Loden, at Dragonbane Castle. He in turn would convince the Council to send the Elisian army on the backs of the dragons, to Wolveryne Castle for the destined battle against Sernon and his forces.
Erik had devised a plan to enter the castle from a secret entrance in the sally port. It was an entrance unknown to Kaden. As part of his inheritance when Erik came of age, their father had given his brother a chart mapping all the underground passages. The king exacted a promise its existence was to be kept secret, and that he was to use it wisely.
Erik had not understood the importance of the maps at the time. Now he did. He told Kaden in private that the only tunnel he had ever used was the one leading into his bedchamber from the sally port. Kaden had not questioned his brother further but knew a pretty woman would have been involved.
The plan would be for Erik to lead Skylah, Ohma, and Tannith into the passage. Erik and Skylah would branch off and open the castle gates. While Ohma and Tannith searched for the Eye of Magus―the gem that fit the heart of the Cross and activated its power. Kaden was aware it would not be an easy task and had been reluctant to leave the princess in danger. He planned to arrive back at the castle with his army in time to be of assistance.
He rolled his cloak into a ball, tucked it beneath his head, and pulled his blanket to his chin. Then, taking the dagger he had borrowed from Etan from his pack, he laid it across his chest underneath the blanket and closed his eyes.
Unable to sleep, his mind filled with half-formed thoughts and the sounds of the night. A lonesome Wolveryne howled in the distance, and somewhere in the darkness, a shriek owl hooted. A shiver ran down his spine. It was said among his people that if you heard a shriek owl cry on a night with two quarter-moons, somewhere someone close by would die.
It was then he heard another sound. Light footsteps. Two men. One tall and heavily built, the other slight. A twig snapped. He smiled. These thugs had all the stealth of a lame Dragon. Instinctively, he braced himself. Any moment now, they would make their move.
His hand tightened on his dagger as a shadowy figure loomed over him. Kaden twisted, then rolled back and grasped the man around the legs. He flipped him over onto his chest, with his head pulled back and a knife pressed to the base of his skinny throat.
“Drop your weapon or your friend is dead,” he called to the other assailant, hiding in the bushes.
A Black man, a mountain tall, took a step into the open, his face wreathed in shadow.
“Who are you?”
The man he straddled tried to answer, but Kaden pressed the blade a little deeper into his throat. It drew a trickle of blood.
“Ouch, you’re killing me!” the boy cried.
Kaden was enjoying himself. “Good. Now, quiet.”
The lad mumbled something unintelligible and lay still under the knife.
He knew he could easily take out this younger one, but the large one could pose a problem. “Now, what was it you were saying?” he asked, conversationally.
The swarthy warrior stepped from the shadows into the light of the fire and raised his hands. He was taller than he had first imagined, but he hid his dismay. This might take longer than expected.
“There is no need for violence.” The dark man’s voice rumbled into the night. “We saw your fire and were curious. Few travel these parts alone. The mountains are dangerous in times of war.”
“Then why are you here?”
The man ignored the question. “I am Demise of the Swaithilands. This is Yole from Isamp.” He indicated his comrade. “We mean no harm.” He spread his hands. “We are travelers like you.”
Kaden loosened his hold on the young man’s neck and rolled him over. A child. He frowned. “You are Elisian?” However, the question needed no answer, the boy’s almond-shaped eyes, slightly pointed ears, and braided silver-white hair, told Kaden all he needed to know.
The Elisian’s jaw drew hard, and he wiped at his throat. “Now will you let me up?”
Kaden relinquished his hold, climbed to his feet, and stepped aside. He offered the Elisian his hand, and the boy accepted it, then dabbed at his throat with the sleeve of his loosely woven gray cloak. “How did you know I was there, anyway?” he asked sullenly.
“You have all the subtlety of a Lemma Bear.”
The boy straightened and puffed out his chest. “I would let you know I am a warrior of great valor. I fight for Prince Kaden and the resistance.”
He raised a brow. “Do you now?” he searched the boy’s face. “And is this prince as great a warrior as they say?”
“Greater. I once saw him take on twenty Urakians singlehandedly and slay them all.”
“Slay them all, you say?” he laughed again. “He must be mighty indeed—almost a god to achieve such a feat.” He looked into the boy’s eyes, and the boy looked away. “You actually saw him with your own eyes?”
The young man reddened and dragged out his sword. “You call me a liar?”
His hand flashed forward, and the sword spun from the boy’s hand and fell to the ground.
“Of course not, lad.” He bent and retrieved the blade as if nothing had occurred and handed it back to the youth. “But I find the incident hard to recall.”
Yole’s eyes narrowed. “Why should you remember it at all?” He frowned. “Who are you?”
He crouched and unlaced his pack and removed an intricately engraved, golden headband. Slipping it over his brow, he stepped into the firelight. “Perhaps this might explain.”
The Black man, overhearing their conversation while building up the fire, stopped and dropped to his knees. He pulled his axe from the holster at his hip and offered it to Kaden with both hands. “My axe and my life. Yours to do with as you will, Sire.”
Yole’s face paled to the color of parchment. “What are you—”
“Get down, fool,” the Swaithia growled. “Do you not know a prince when you see one?”
Kaden grinned, then laughed outright as the boy stumbled and dropped his sword in his haste to scramble to his knees.
“Sorry, my lord,” the boy said, his tone urgent. “Forgive me.”
“There is nothing to forgive, Yole.” He ruffled the boy’s silver blond hair. “You were not to know.”
He ran a hand over his stubbled jaw, removed the gold circlet, dropped it back into his pack, and grinned. “I realize it is probably hard to recognize me as your prince with this seven days growth and three days dirt on my tunic. Now stand. I will have no man on his knees before me—not even when I have restored my brother’s kingdom and seen every man who fights for me back on his own soil.” He sank onto the worn stub of an ancient tree trunk. “Did you really see me take on twenty men, Yole?”
“Well not…exactly,” the boy hedged, still not able to meet the prince’s strange, green eyes, “but a friend told me…” He left the sentence hanging as Kaden chuckled.
“Never believe everything you are told. Not even by a friend. Now…” Kaden said, gesturing to the two. “Come, sit by the fire and share a flask, and we will talk of things that have passed, things that are, and things that will be.”
He passed the wine to Demise, and the tribesman squirted a goodly portion down his throat. “Ah.” The big man sighed, wiping the dregs from his chin with his tattooed arm. “Time has long passed since I tasted such wine.” He handed the bladder to Yole.
The boy glanced from one man to the other, then tipped the wineskin to his lips in anticipation. The wine hit his gut with the bite of fire, and his face reddened. Tears swam in his silvery eyes, and he choked on an apoplexy of coughs.
“How old did you say you were?” Kaden leaned forward and gave him a hearty thump between his shoulder blades.
Yole finally brought his spasm under control and found his voice. He passed the wineskin back to Kaden. “Fifteen summers, my lord.”
“So young. I have children fighting for me?” he asked softly. He searched Yole’s face and shook his head. “Why are you here, anyway, and not home with your family? Are your people daft?”
The boy’s expression hardened, and his silver-mauve eyes grew cold, bringing a chill to Kaden’s heart.
“I have come to spill the blood of those who murdered my parents and sacrificed my sister to their dark gods.”
Kaden felt the boy’s pain. He knew what it was to lose a family in such a manner. “And so, you shall have your vengeance,” he soothed, “and soon.” He looked to Demise. “And your story, my large friend. You are a long way from the Swaithialands. Sernon’s power could not have reached so far, surely?”
The Black man glanced into the darkness. Kaden could see he carried a deep sorrow in his eyes.
“I would prefer to keep my thoughts my own, my lord, if you are not offended?”
“As you wish, tribesman, for I am not one to delve into another man’s secrets, when there are many secrets in my heart that I would not divulge.” He changed the subject. “I have traveled far in search of a man named Radoch. Have you heard of him?”
“There is a Colonel Radoch who leads the resistance,” countered Demise, taking a round of bread from his pack, breaking it in three, and sharing it with Yole and Kaden. “Could be the man you are seeking.”
“Can you take me to him?”
Demise hesitated and eyed the young Elisian who looked as if he were about to answer. He frowned and shook his head. “We will leave at first light. The pass is narrow and not for journeying at night.”
Kaden rose and wrapped himself in his blanket. “Sunrise it shall be then.” He settled beside the fire and stretched out with his cloak beneath his head. “Colonel Radoch and I have much to talk about.” He closed his eyes, and his deep even breathing soon filled the night.
Demise took first watch, scanning the edge of the trees. After contenting himself all was well, he drew his weighty battle-axe from its leather harness and methodically began running a whetstone along its gleaming blade of death. His mind raced ahead to the coming battle. The Wolfhead had returned. It would not be long now before his dreams of revenge were no longer dreams.
Chapter Sixteen
Kaden strode into Radoch’s tent a little after dawn.
“My lord!” The older man hobbled forward, his hands outstretched. “My eyes deceive me. Can it really, be you? I thought you were surely dead.”
Kaden laughed and shook Radoch’s hand. “You are not that lucky, my friend. And you, you big lummox…the last time I saw you, you professed to be dying.”
Radoch collapsed into his chair, stretched out his leg, and rubbed the top of his thigh. “The leg still aches on the cold morns, but I fare well for an old dog.” He looked expectantly at the tent flap behind Kaden. “And Erik, is he with you?”
“No, but he is well.”
“Were you able to break the—”
“Spell?” Kaden finished with a smile. “Yes, he is his handsome self again. Our king is on his way to open the gates of Wolveryne Castle.”
“So, the time has come?”
Kaden sank onto Radoch’s field bunk, pulled off his boots, dropped them one by one to the black and gold carpet, and lay back on the bunk. “Aye, my friend, it is time to see to that cur sitting on my father’s throne choking on his entrails. I have waited patiently for this day, Radoch, and nothing will stop us now.”
“We are five thousand strong, scattered throughout the valley. No, I am wrong.” He grinned. “We are five thousand three hundred troops strong. Three hundred Elven archers rode in from Druh Forest yestermorn. I have never seen the likes before. Deep green tunics and beautifully scrolled silver breast plates, grieves, and pauldrons.”
“I thought they were allergic to silver.”
“I as well. But I asked their leader, and he told me the armor had been ensorcelled eight centuries ago by a Druid Mage named Brekan, but I cannot believe so. To me, it looked like it had been wrought yesterday. He said the armor had been stored ready for a time such as this.”
Kaden nodded, remembering the young Lord of Druh Forest whom he helped with the fortification of his city. “Does their leader have white-blond hair and silver-gray eyes
Radoch grinned. “Looks to me like he has not been long out of swaddling rags, but he can hit a bird on the wing at three hundred paces with his Ash bow.”
“That is Jerak Montielle. “I believe he is a couple of hundred years old.
Radoch ran a hand over his chin. “Well, that is something. Had it been anyone else telling me that, I would have thought them a liar.”
“And Jerak’s men, are they as accurate?”
“Every one of them. Their lord gave me a demonstration and not one missed their target. I have never seen the likes. It was incredible. Yet I have never met one Elf, let alone three hundred en mass.”
Kaden laughed and swung his legs over the edge of the bunk. “Good, I have plans for them. How long will it take to gather your men?”
“Your men, you mean.” Radoch folded his arms and leaned back in his rattan chair. “I have nurtured this lot long enough. It is your turn to take the reins. If I send out scouts now, the army could be assembled within two days.”
Kaden eyed his friend. “How many cavalry do we have?”
“Around two thousand horses are penned high in the mountains. I’m not too sure about good riders though.”
“We will manage. And weapons, have we enough?”
“Aye, the blacksmith in Antibba loathes the Urakians as much as we. His son died in the Battle of Wolveryne Castle. Most men brought their own fighting implements, and the women have been instructed in how to make arrows. A forge has been built to produce bronze arrow heads.”
“You have done well, Radoch.” Kaden smiled. “It seems I left the right man in charge. This would not have been possible without you.”
“I hate that monster sitting on your father’s throne as much as you do. The king was not only my monarch but my friend. He did not deserve to die in such a contemptible manner.” Radoch filled two earthen mugs with rum from the flask on his table and pushed one toward him.
Accepting the drink, he took a hearty swallow. It burned all the way down and set a fire in his belly. “What of enemy activity?” He wiped his arm across his lips.
Radoch grinned. “They stopped coming. I guess they are waiting to see what our next move will be. Apart from the mine at the base of the mountain, the Urakians have kept away from this place. At first, they sent in scouts, but finally realizing whoever they sent would not be returning, they ceased.”
Kaden finished the last of his rum and breathed out heavily.
Radoch chuckled. “Packs a punch, does it not?”
“Where did you get it? I haven’t tasted a brew like this for an exceedingly long time.”
“Bought it off a Swaithia Tribesman. He told me it was imported straight from the Far Isles. Showed up here twelve days ago with a wagonload of the stuff―said he was unable to fight without fire in his belly.”
“Sounds like a bit of a scoundrel.”
“Good fighter, though, carries a double-sided battle-axe and swings it as if it is no heavier than a short sword. He led a raid on an Urakian supply train a few days after he arrived. Wiped out the lot and brought back eight wagons filled to bursting with grain, armor, and food.”
“Headed for the castle?”
“That was my guess.”
“With few serfs left to work the land or cottagers to steal food from, and no food for his men or grain for their horses, the morale of Sernon’s troops must be getting mighty low. Good move, Radoch.”
“The idea was the tribesman’s, not mine. The Swaithia has the mind of a natural brigand.”
“What name does he go by?”
“Demise.”
Kaden put back his head and laughed. “ ’Tis a good name. I have met this man. He nearly killed me last night at the foot of the mountain.” He sobered. “Have someone fetch him.”
“Why?”
“I need to send word to the Dwarves.”
“Dwarves? I thought they were—”
His sentence trailed off as the air around him began to pulsate with the sound of a thousand beating wings.
“What the—” Kaden strode to the entrance of the tent and threw back the flap.
All around, men were crying out, dropping to their knees, cowering to the ground as the beating noise rose to an intolerable pitch. A shout went up as a multitude of dark winged creatures crested the rugged mountain peaks, filling the sky, blocking the morning sun with their humongous shadows.
Feeling as if a mighty weight crushed his shoulders he stared up at the sky. Was this Sernon’s last ingenious stroke? Had the master sorcerer conjured winged demons to destroy them? Defeat lay on his shoulders like a living beast. He had come so close—only a few more days.
He tried to rise but the high-pitched whirring of the wings was intolerable. Again, he fell to his knees, covering his ears beside Radoch. Thoughts of failure filled his mind. Sernon had won, and all was lost. No man could stand against this mighty force of evil. He closed his eyes and bowed his head.
“Kaden! Ho! Why does the Wolfhead cower so?”
The prince’s eyes flew open. Dragons filled the sky, circling above the camp. Upon each of the Dragons’ shining backs sat three dwarven warriors, each fully armed. Hammer Deathwielder rode their leader.
