“Mansel!” he shouted. “Get up, the dragon is back. Mansel!”
Zollin searched the star filled night sky, but the dragon was almost impossible to see. Bartoom’s scales were jet black, blending into the space between the stars perfectly. Zollin sent his magic up again and found the big dragon circling around. Zollin held his connection with Bartoom for a moment, sensing the dragon’s wounds. They were several days old and none of them severe, but the dragon had seen difficult action not long ago. Zollin wondered briefly if the kraken had hurt the dragon more than he had thought.
“What in the bloody blazes are you on about, Zollin?” Mansel demanded.
“The dragon just flew by and it’s coming back.”
“Where?” Mansel asked.
“There,” he said, pointing in the distance although neither of them could see the dragon.
“You sure?”
“Positive,” Zollin said.
“Okay, Nycoll, get out of here!” he shouted. “Stay low, but get some distance from us. This thing is deadly.”
Nycoll didn’t say a word-she just hurried away, disappearing into the darkness.
“What do I do?” Mansel asked.
“I’m not sure, we don’t have anything to attack the dragon with,” he said. Then an idea
struck. “Oh, wait. The tridents.”
“The what?” Mansel said.
Zollin was already moving, running back along the path that had led from Nycoll’s cottage to the sea.
“There were mermen in the ocean,” Zollin shouted. “They attacked us. Don’t you remember?”
“No!” Mansel shouted. “Are you insane? Mermen? Really?”
“Most of the tridents fell back into the water, but a few didn’t,” Zollin shouted as they reached the dock. He kindled a flame and held it high over his head. There wasn’t much to see-the grasses around the shore, which was rocky and steep, were strangely flattened.
“Oh, curse it all,” Zollin said. “They must have come ashore and collected them all.”
“You are losing it, Zollin,” Mansel said.
“No, they were here, right here,” he said in frustration.
There was a roar that made them both look up, just as a wave of fire consumed their horses and set the massive oak tree ablaze. Zollin immediately covered them in a shield of magic, but the dragon didn’t press the attack. It flew harmlessly past and out to sea.
“You think it didn’t see us?” Mansel asked.
“I have no idea,” Zollin said. “But it’s leaving the area.”
“Or pretending to. And we don’t have mounts or supplies. Everything but the clothes on our backs was under that tree.”
“Eustice should be along tomorrow,” Zollin said. “He’s got the extra supplies.”
“If he wasn’t waylaid somewhere. We could be in serious trouble.”
“Isn’t there a village nearby?”
“One of the smallest I’ve ever seen,” Mansel explained. “It’s really just a few people spread along the seashore. But if the army didn’t spare Nycoll’s home, they probably didn’t spare the village.”
Zollin felt his heart sink a little. Their best chance for survival would be the ocean, but he didn’t relish going back to sea.
“Make sure that dragon isn’t circling back,” Mansel said. “I’m going to find Nycoll.”
Zollin expanded his magic in the sky in a broad, arcing circle, like the top half of a bubble. He didn’t bother filling the sky with magic so that he could feel every small creature-instead, he pushed the limits of his power, expecting that something as large as the dragon would be easy to find. The big dragon, Bartoom, was gone. Zollin wasn’t sure where the beast had gone, but he didn’t linger long on the question. Instead, he focused on the two smaller dragons that were circling the burning tree.
“Mansel!” Zollin shouted. “We aren’t out of the woods yet.”
“What now?” Mansel bellowed.
“More dragons,” Zollin said loudly. “There are more dragons.”
Chapter 16
Prince Wilam stood in the great round audience room of the Torr. He was anxious. Scouts had reported that an army from Falxis was marching south and was almost to the border of Osla. Unlike King Oveer and his worthless generals, Prince Wilam felt that the best way to win Gwendolyn’s affection was through performance. That meant that leading the army fell to him alone. The king and his generals lazed around the audience chamber of the Torr like house cats, ignoring their duties in hopes of catching a glance of Queen Gwendolyn.
Prince Wilam had outlined a plan that included dividing the army into a small force and a large force. The larger force would go out to meet the invading army north of the Grand City. There was still time for the prince to find suitable ground to meet the enemy on so that they went to battle on their own terms. The smaller force would be held in reserve. If Prince Wilam failed to stop the invaders, the smaller group could defend the city. Gwendolyn had shown very little interest in his preparations for defending her prize. He had thought that marching to Osla and taking the richest kingdom in her name would have pleased the queen, but she was caught up in the books that Offendorl had left behind. She spent days working through the translations of ancient texts, ignoring everyone and everything else.
“Have you seen her today?” Wilam asked King Oveer, who was lounging on pillows near one of the room’s many windows and drinking wine.
“Do not address me as an equal,” King Oveer said, his words barely understandable through his wine thickened tongue. “Leave your message with General Vaslic. We shall pass it along to Her Highness.”
“I do not leave messages with the likes of you drunkards,” Wilam hissed. “You lazy fools are worth less than the wild dogs nosing through the refuse in the streets.”
“You cannot insult me, Prince.” King Oveer said the last word with such disdain he nearly fell off his mattress.
“I already have, King Oveer. I have taken your army,” he said, then lowered his voice, “and soon I shall take your pathetic life as well.”
“I will have your head for such an insult.”
“Come take it, if you’re man enough.”
“Vaslic, Ormon, slay this spineless fool and bring me his head. I shall make a gift of it to
Her Highness.”
“Still letting other people fight your battles?” Prince Wilam said coolly, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
“It’s about time we deloused Her Lady’s tower.”
Prince Wilam heard the swords being drawn behind him, but he didn’t turn to face the two generals who had been ordered to attack him. He stood, watching King Oveer, who slurped from his wine cup and then wiped his nasty beard with the back of his hand.
“I will feed what’s left of you to the dogs in the street,” King Oveer said. “Since you know them so well.”
“I know Her Highness, and the queen knows me,” Prince Wilam said with a smirk.
“Liar!” King Oveer shouted.
Prince Wilam spun around, drawing his sword in one fluid motion. The two drunken generals were lurching toward him, but both were moving slowly, their balance ruined by too much wine. He stepped toward the closest man and swung a hard blow straight at the general’s sword. Ormon couldn’t hold onto his weapon, which went spinning across the floor. Prince Wilam ignored the weaponless general and faced Vaslic.
“Throw down your weapon and flee Osla,” Prince Wilam said, “or I’ll kill you.”
“I shall not leave Her Highness,” Vaslic said.
“Then die, dog!” Wilam shouted as he rushed forward.
Vaslic raised his sword in a clumsy attempt at defending himself, but Prince Wilam smashed the drunken general’s knee with a savage kick. Vaslic fell to the ground, dropping his weapon and grabbing his leg. The blood lust was now ringing in Prince Wilam’s ears and he drove his sword deep into the general’s stomach. Then he wrenched his weapon free and turned on General Ormond, who had recovered his weapon but was staring wide-eyed at his slain colleague.
Prince Wilam didn’t give Ormond the chance to flee. He feinted to his right, then slid to his left, slashing his sword across Ormond’s shoulder. Blood arced and the general screamed, but Wilam followed his initial attack with a thrust under his opponent’s blade that split Ormond’s sternum. Prince Wilam’s blade stuck fast and he was forced to put one foot on the other man’s chest to jerk his weapon free. Then he spun to face King Oveer, who was climbing from his pile of cushions to his feet.