“I do not know, my King,” said the Falxis general. “But it is coming this way.”
“We need to fall back,” said King Zorlan.
“But, Sire, we were told to attack.”
“Send the army. Send them all forward. I don’t want that cloud to reach me.”
“All ranks move forward!” the general shouted, but the order was only half-heartedly repeated down the line. The rows and rows of soldiers didn’t move.
“I said, send them forward!” King Zorlan said in a high-pitched, frightened voice.
The general beside him grew angry. He turned and threw a punch at his King, who fell from his horse.
“You send them forward!” the general screamed at him.
Then the gathered generals heard the sounds of the army as it began to panic. The dust cloud had reached them, and the men were breaking and running. Some were using their weapons on their own countrymen. It was a total disaster.
When the cavalry broke through the cloud, the army offered no resistance. Even after the cloud dissipated and Zollin stopped casting his spell of dread and fear, the invaders were terrified. They ran screaming in all directions.
The noise woke Offendorl. His eunuch had just returned with the heavy golden crown. It had been in the wizard’s massive wagon that Zollin had destroyed. The soft metal had been dented and bent out of shape on one side by the blast, but it still fit on Offendorl’s head.
“What is happening?” the wizard asked.
The eunuch had no way to communicate what was happening, but Offendorl didn’t expect a reply. He sat up, and the pain in his stomach made him dizzy. He knew he needed more time to rest and heal himself, but from the sounds of things, he didn’t have any time left.
“Put it on my head,” he ordered.
The servant raised the helmet and settled it over the wizard’s wispy, gray hair. Offendorl felt a shock of power that once again wrenched his physical body, but he held himself together. The dragon was not as far away as Offendorl had feared. Obviously the beast wasn’t able to venture far from its master now.
“Come to me,” he ordered the beast.
He left the golden helmet on his head only long enough to make sure the dragon was obeying, then he ordered his servant to lift it off him.
“Get my horse ready. We can’t stay here,” he said.
The servant hurried out of the tent, and Offendorl sagged back onto the bed. Fear was taking root in the old wizard’s mind. He was losing this war, he recognized now. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to restore enough of his physical strength to match Zollin in direct combat again. He knew he certainly couldn’t anytime soon. He needed to get away from the boy. He needed to get back to where he was strong. Somehow he needed to get back to his tower in Osla, before Zollin could find him and kill him. Every second that passed now was agony. He was terrified that he would be discovered at any moment. The fear of death pressed in on his mind, and Offendorl fled.
* * *
Horns sounded, and the invading army began to retreat. Zollin could see the men fleeing in all directions. Just then King Felix came hurrying up beside him and took in the state of the battle in seconds.
“It’s working,” he said. “I never would have believed it.”
“Never underestimate fear in a battle,” Quinn said.
“You can dissipate the dust cloud,” Felix said. “We need to communicate with our cavalry and tell them to herd the enemy toward the river.”
It took less than two hours to push the invaders back to the Tillamook River. Most dropped their weapons and swam to safety on the other side. King Felix sent a delegation to sue for peace. He graciously offered to escort the armies back to Winsome, if they promised to board their ships and sail for home. Over three thousand men had been killed or wounded in the battle.
Zollin was riding out with Quinn and Mansel, looking for a sign on the battlefield of the wizard he’d fought, when the dragon appeared again. It swung low, but far away from the castle.
“There’s the dragon!” Mansel shouted.
Zollin was riding one of the large horses from the King’s stables. He kicked the horse into a frantic gallop, but he wasn’t fast enough. The dragon wrapped its long tail around someone and took to the air. Zollin knew who it was. Offendorl had called the beast. Zollin could only watch in frustration as the beast flew south.
“What was that?” Quinn said.
“I think it was the wizard,” Zollin said.
“The dragon got him?”
“No, he’s found a way to control the dragon,” Zollin said. “He’s using it to escape.”
They rode on and found the tongueless eunuch who had seen to Offendorl’s needs. He was standing alone. The dragon had eaten the wizard’s horse and terrified the servant before taking Offendorl to safety. The Master of the Torr had left his faithful servant to die.
“What do we do with him?” Mansel asked.
“Leave him,” Quinn said. “He’s just a servant.”
“No, he might have useful information,” Zollin said.
He dismounted and approached the man. Offendorl’s servants were broken, pitiful creatures. They served because they feared their master, and now the man was distraught.
“It’s okay,” Zollin said. “I’m not going to hurt you. In fact, I can help.”
The eunuch shook his head vigorously.
“Please,” Zollin said soothingly. “Did you serve the Master of the Torr?”
The man looked like a dog who had been repeatedly beaten by a harsh kennel owner. His eyes were large and terrified. He opened his mouth and bellowed a wordless shriek.
“Oh, please, put him out of his misery,” Mansel said.
“No! No one is going to hurt him,” Zollin said. “Come with me. I’ll look after you.”
The man looked relieved, but still skeptical. Zollin mounted his horse and pulled the servant up behind him.
“So what now?” Mansel asked.
“Now we go back to the castle to see if King Felix has any useful information. And then we ride south. This won’t be over until the Torr either gives up on me or is destroyed.”
“We have to try and save Prince Wilam, too,” Mansel said.
“Yes, and perhaps we can learn what happened to Brianna.”
Back in the city, the people were celebrating. There were huge bonfires where animals were being roasted and barrels of wine, ale, and cider were being tapped. There was music and dancing in the streets. It reminded Zollin of the harvest festival in Tranaugh Shire, only on a much larger scale.
Zollin rode back to the castle with Quinn and Mansel. All were quiet, each lost in his own thoughts. Quinn was thinking of Miriam. Zollin had shared with his father how he had lifted her across the river the night before, but Quinn was worried that she might not have gotten far enough from the city before the fighting started, or that some of the soldiers who fled across the river might find her. Mansel was filled with guilt. He had murdered an innocent man, and although Quinn and Zollin seemed ready to forgive him, he was having trouble forgiving himself. He wanted revenge on the witch in Lodenhime, but he also wanted to return to Nycoll’s cottage on the coast of Felxis. He understood now why she stayed in the forlorn home all alone. There was something peaceful about the cottage and the solitude. He longed to lose himself there and perhaps someday come to terms with his guilt. Zollin was eager to travel south. He wanted desperately to catch up with the dragon and perhaps learn the fate of his beloved. Brianna was never far from his thoughts, and sometimes it took all his will power not to give into the crushing grief and fear that he would never see her again.
At the castle, the officers of the King’s Army were feasting in the great hall. King Felix was on his throne with a great banquet table spread before him. Zollin was amazed at how quickly the kitchen staff had prepared food. The battle had only been over perhaps two hours, and yet there were cakes, roast fowl, and mountains of vegetables, bread, and cheese. A huge roasted pig sat carved on one end of the banquet table, and two huge venison hams were on the other. Wine and ale flowed from giant barrels that the servants had tapped and were constantly using to refill pitchers for the tables.