“Until we meet again, your highness,” Zollin said, holding out his hand to the prince.
“May it be soon and often,” Wilam replied, grasping Zollin’s forearm. “You shall always be welcome in Yelsia.”
“We plan to return once this is over,” Zollin said. “Wish us luck.”
“What?” Brianna blurted in surprise, but she wasn’t talking to Zollin or Wilam. They both looked at her with concern.
“Are you sure?”
The other dragons were crowding in close to Gyia.
“Of course you are free to go, but we will miss you,” Brianna said. “Still, I think it is an admirable choice.” She turned to Wilam. “Look after Gyia. Don’t let anyone mistreat my sister.”
“Never,” Wilam said. “Gyia is wise, and I will trust her with my life.”
“They aren’t male or female,” Zollin said softly, with a teasing nod.
“Oh, I didn’t realize that,” Wilam said. “I have a lot to learn.”
“Gyia will be a good instructor,” Brianna said. “In the air, trust your dragon. Gyia will need to rest several times a day, and hunt as well, but that shouldn’t be a problem.”
“The army followed the road and pillaged along the way, so many of the villages were left with nothing or burned down. You might travel to the coast and then turn north. You should be able to get whatever you need along the way by stopping at the coastal towns. Here,” Zollin handed the prince his pouch of silver marks and gold crowns. “That should be enough to get you home.”
“I can never repay you for your kindness,” Wilam said.
“Just get home safe. And be prepared in case we fail.”
“I shall, you can count on me,” Wilam said.
Gyia’s tail coiled around the prince and lifted him onto the dragon’s back. There were small ridges on the purple dragon’s shoulders where the front legs joined the long, smooth body. Wilam slung the pack over his shoulder and took hold of the ridges, one in each hand. His legs wrapped three quarters of the way around Gyia’s body, and he looked secure.
“Stay close to Gyia’s body for warmth,” Brianna said to Wilam. And then to Gyia she said, “And don’t forget your passenger and roast him when you get cold.”
“Yes,” Wilam said. “Please don’t roast me.”
They all laughed, even the dragons, which caused smoke to puff from their noses. Tig was the last to say goodbye, nuzzling Gyia affectionately one last time. Then Gyia jumped into the air. The purple dragon’s wings flapped in mighty waves that lifted Gyia and Prince Wilam high into the air. Then they were gone, flying north toward safety and home, while Zollin and Brianna turned south.
“Well, it’s time to get moving,” Zollin said.
He levitated onto Ferno’s back. Brianna jumped high in the air, flipping and twirling before landing gracefully on Selix’s back.
“Show off,” Zollin said.
Tig roared, then took to the sky.
“He’s scouting ahead,” Brianna said.
“Well then, let’s go.”
Ferno and Selix took to the air smoothly, but Zollin had a feeling that nothing in their future would be as smooth and easy as their flight had begun.
Chapter 28
Nothing filled Offendorl with more glee than seeing Bartoom wreak havoc. The dragon looked like a large bird at first, so high in the sky that it seemed like an indistinct blob. Then it dove, like a streak of black lightning.
Offendorl was in the street across from the tower of the Torr, lingering in the shadows. It had taken the dragon an hour to finally arrive, but once the beast was in sight of the city, it moved with purpose. Offendorl watched as men along the walls pointed at the dragon, although he was sure none of them knew what it was. The soldiers guarding the tower were oblivious to the danger. Offendorl held his breath as the dragon dove, then, at the last instant, he realized his mistake.
The dragon blew its fiery breath onto the tower, whose windows were wide open to catch the breeze. The fire would, Offendorl realized too late, destroy his library. His hands fumbled with the heavy gold circlet, jamming it on his head.
“Not the tower,” he said out loud, almost shouting. “Attack the soldiers on the walls!”
The dragon abruptly ceased its raging attack on the tower and swooped away. The soldiers in front of the tower were now pointing up at the black smoke that was flooding out of the top floors of the tower. Offendorl cursed as he stalked toward them. Half of their number ran inside before he reached the courtyard that surrounded the base of the tower.
“Halt!” shouted one of the soldiers.
Offendorl flapped a hand, as if he were shooing a pesky fly. The soldiers were knocked senseless by a wave of magical energy. Offendorl glanced up at the inn window to see if Havina was watching. She was leaning out of the window and he forced himself not to acknowledge her. He was like acting like a child, he and berated himself mentally. He forced his thoughts of the young woman out of his mind. Just climbing the many flights of stairs to reach the upper floors where Gwendolyn would undoubtedly be would be difficult enough, and there was no telling what manner of surprises the witch would have for him along the way.
* * *
“Great gods in heaven,” King Zorlan said. He couldn’t believe his eyes. First, King Belphan had been killed in Yelsia, giving him the opportunity to assassinate the Oslan generals and take control of his rival’s army. Then, he discovered that King Oveer had been killed, and Zorlan had destroyed the greater part of the Ortisan army with ease. Now, with his forces surrounding the Grand City, the black dragon had appeared and was raining down fire on his enemies.
King Zorlan had been afraid that the dragon would attack his men, but instead it was roasting the men on the city walls. Zorlan watched as it swooped down, snapping up one man in its jaws and swatting four more off the high walls with its tail.
“Prepare to attack the main gate,” Zorlan shouted.
“Sir?” his general said in surprise.
“Do as I say or I’ll use your head as a piss pot, general,” Zorlan said angrily. “Do not question my orders ever again. Order the attack. I want the men to form up here, right in front of my tent.”
“Yes, my lord,” the general said, hurrying off and shouting orders to the troops.
Zorlan had planned to wait several days before calling his troops into action, but they could rest when the city was his. Opportunities like the one before him now only came once in a lifetime. Zorlan had never been a religious man, but he couldn’t help but feel that some divine being was smiling down at him, making his ascent to power almost too easy.
His troops began to take formation in front of him. They lined up in rows, the first carrying oversized wooden shields and the second row carrying scaling ladders. Their goal would be to get on top of the gatehouse and fight their way down so that they could open the gates. The soldiers on the walls were occupied completely with the dragon. Archers were firing arrows at the beast, but the arrows just bounced harmlessly off the dragon’s glossy, black scales. It was chaos on the walls and Zorlan knew it was the time to strike.
“Send the first unit,” he bellowed. “And bring me my horse!”
* * *
Offendorl had ascended two flights of stairs when he felt his body grow stiff. From a small doorway came a glassy eyed man with tangled, greasy hair and a ragged beard that was matted with drool.
Offendorl had several warlocks in the tower. Most were completely insane, and although he could not control their powers like a sorcerer, their proximity seemed to boost his own magical prowess. Now that power was being used against him. Gwendolyn was a sorceress and she would turn every magic user in the tower against him.
Suddenly, without any sort of indication from the drooling warlock, Offendorl felt as if he were in the grip of a giant, invisible fist. He had to strain with his own magic to push back against the warlock’s power. He knew the warlock was completely under Gwendolyn’s control, like a puppet whose invisible strings only she could pull. But Offendorl also knew the fears of the warlocks in the tower, knew their weaknesses. Fire erupted from the elder wizard’s hands, billowing out in orange clouds.