Doom of the Dragon (46 page)

“I will talk to them,” said Wulfe, sending the oceanids into a frenzy.

“Do not go near those fiends, Your Highness!” the oceanids begged him, fluttering in alarm. “Your mother would not like it!”

Their wailings angered the centaur.

“Leave him be, women,” Swiftwind said sternly. “Don't make a prattling mama's boy of our prince.” He reached out his hand to Wulfe. “I'll take you to the ghouls, Your Highness. Climb on my back.”

Swiftwind took hold of Wulfe's hand and pulled him up on his broad horse back that began at the centaur's torso. Swiftwind was a male centaur; his human face was handsome and chiseled, with a long mane of hair that extended down his human back.

“Don't go tattling to my mother,” Wulfe ordered the oceanids, who were watching him anxiously from the water.

They promised him they wouldn't, though he had seen several swim off to do that very thing.

“I'm not afraid of the ghouls,” Wulfe boasted to the centaur as they galloped along the beach. He hoped that saying the words aloud might make them true.

“Nor should you be, Your Highness,” said Swiftwind in disdainful tones. “Ghouls are craven cowards who feast on dead men because they are terrified of the living.”

Wulfe could understand why ghouls would not dare come near Swiftwind. Unlike many fae, centaurs were expert in using weapons. Swiftwind carried a bow bigger than Wulfe and a quiver of stone-tipped arrows slung over his shoulder. With the powerful arms of a human and the slashing hooves of a horse, centaurs had no fear of iron and had been known to battle Uglies.

“I don't want the soldiers to see me,” Wulfe told the centaur. “Is there a back way to reach the gate?”

Swiftwind investigated and found a wide, deep crevice in the rock that would take them near the top of the plateau. He climbed swiftly and with ease until they reached the shadows of the wall and Wulfe called a halt, fearing the ghouls would catch sight of the centaur and flee in a panic. He slid off the centaur's broad back.

Swiftwind offered to wait to make certain the boy didn't get into trouble. Since getting into trouble was Wulfe's goal, he didn't think the centaur would be much help, so he thanked Swiftwind and said he could manage on his own. The centaur raised his head, said he heard sounds of battle, and, wishing his prince well, galloped off to view the fighting.

Wulfe heard the sounds of battle himself and thought that Skylan was likely in the middle of it, and he had better hurry. He crept along in the shadow of the wall, sneaking up on five ghouls, who had their backs turned, gazing hungrily at the gate and the soldiers guarding it.

Wulfe could see them clearly in the moonlight and they were even more loathsome up close. Always ravenous, with a hunger that could never be sated, ghouls were thin and gaunt with bulbous heads on skinny necks, wide mouths filled with long, sharp teeth and pale skin drawn tight over fleshless bones. Their ragged clothes were stained with the leavings of their feasts and the stench made Wulfe sick to his stomach.

He was very close now, priding himself on his stealth, when one of the ghouls pricked up its ears, hissed a warning, and turned to stare at him with lidless eyes.

Wulfe stared back, hard and unblinking, until one of the ghouls seemed to shrivel and shrink away from him.

“What are you looking at?” a ghoul asked Wulfe, leering.

“He's His Highness,” the groveling ghoul warned.

“His Highness should find his own food,” another growled, fixing Wulfe with a hungry gaze. “He eats well enough, by the looks of him.”

Wulfe repeated to himself that he wasn't afraid, then said, putting on a bold front, “I want to know if you have seen an Ugly wearing a purple cape. He's really big.”

“We saw him. Lots of meat on his bones,” said one of the ghouls as the others began to gibber and drool.

Wulfe gave himself a moment to appreciate the thought of Raegar being devoured, then returned to business.

“Is he still inside the city? Did you see him come out?”

“He is still inside,” said several, licking their bloodless lips.

“He will make a fine, fat corpse,” said another.

“Not skinny, like His Highness,” said a third, reaching out a bloodstained, filthy finger to poke at Wulfe.

Wulfe bared his teeth and growled, and the ghouls slunk off. Keeping to the shadows, Wulfe drew nearer the gate. The guards were watching the ships burning and saying that the emperor would be angry and he would make whoever was responsible pay with their blood.

Wulfe had been trying to think of how he would bring Raegar and Skylan together and this gave him an idea. Raegar would be furious at any foe who had set fire to his fleet and he'd be out-of-his-mind furious when he knew that person was Skylan.

But here was Raegar in the city at one end of the beach and there was Skylan fighting at the other end. Wulfe needed to bring the two together and suddenly he knew how to do it. The problem was that he had never worked such powerful magic himself. He'd seen it done; other fae used it all the time to play tricks on the Uglies.

He was reciting to himself over and over the spell he was going to cast when he heard the clatter of horse's hooves and Raegar's voice bellowing for the guards to open the gate.

The guards sprang to obey, lifting the heavy bar that kept the gate closed. Wulfe began to sing softly to himself.

I can be

Any face I see.

Make you think

I am not me.

The magic started to work. Wulfe watched his short, scrawny body grow tall and muscular. He added leather armor and long, blond hair and a face he knew better than his own. The guards hauled on the gate and Raegar, mounted on a horse, galloped out onto the road. He took one look at the burning galleys and gnashed his teeth.

“Who did this?” he demanded.

“I did!” Wulfe shouted and he jumped to Raegar's side, put his hand on the horse's bridle, looked at Raegar and said, “Me—Skylan Ivorson! What are you going to do about it?”

Raegar stared at him blankly, then his face contorted, his mouth twisted, his eyes blazed. Roaring in fury, he reached for his sword.

Wulfe made a crude gesture and ran off down the road, heading for the beach.

“Don't just stand there! Stop him! Seize him!” Raegar yelled at the soldiers around him.

No one obeyed him. The soldiers were running headlong for the open gates, pouring into the fallen city to claim the spoils of war. Wulfe heard Raegar swearing at them, and he grinned as he ran.

The beauty of this magic spell was that it worked only on someone who either loved or hated with such passion that he would believe in his heart that the illusion was real, even though his head told him it couldn't possibly be true. For if Raegar had stopped to think, he must have wondered why Skylan was now seven feet tall. Wulfe had been a bit off on his calculations.

Raegar didn't take time to think. He kicked his horse in the flanks and charged after Wulfe, forcing those in his path to leap out of the way or be trampled.

Wulfe ran onto the beach with Raegar galloping behind. All Wulfe had to do now was find Skylan.

The real Skylan.

 

CHAPTER

45

The burning siege engine blazed like a huge torch, shedding a lurid orange glow over the beach, seeming to vie with the bright, cold moon to see who could best illuminate the field of battle. The moonlight glittered on the swords and armor of Aelon's soldiers, rank after rank, stretching far into the night. Flames tipped spears and shone in the eyes of Skylan and his warriors lined up shoulder to shoulder, shields overlapping.

The soldiers of Oran cast grim glances at each other, no one wanting to lead the charge. Skylan grinned in sympathy. He had faced ogres in a shield wall and knew that the first wave crashing against those boulder-size bodies would end up in a foaming, churning mass of blood and bone.

Even as he thought this, he heard a command and the jingling of armor and felt the ground shudder as the soldiers began to march toward them.

Spears leveled, weapons in hand, shields locked, Skylan and his warriors braced for the shock as the front ranks crashed into them. Ogre spears pierced helms and shattered skulls. A Sinarian spear point thudded into Skylan's shield. The spear split in two the next moment when a second spear slammed into it.

Skylan used his shield to block a sword strike aimed at Sigurd, driving God-rage into the Sinarian's throat. He was vaguely aware of Keeper, behind him, reaching over him to jab his spear into the chest of a soldier about to cleave open his head.

After that, all Skylan saw were flashes of bloodied steel and disembodied faces set in fierce grimaces, intent upon killing. He fought and ducked, kicked and stabbed. God-rage shone red in the fire's light.

Men screamed and the faces vanished, only to be replaced by more. His hand was slippery with blood and then the faces were gone. The Sinarians had fallen back to rest and regroup and drag their wounded from the field.

Skylan gasped for breath, grateful for the respite, and looked swiftly up and down the line. Their shield wall had held.

Erdmun had fallen, but one of the ogres in the row behind had stepped up to take his place. Sigurd was grinning and wiping blood and sweat from his face. Grimuir had lost his own helm and replaced it with one from the corpse of a Sinarian. Bjorn was grim and tight-lipped.

“What happened to Erdmun?” Skylan asked.

Bjorn only shook his head.

The Sinarian ranks came again, as more and more soldiers heard the clash of arms and hurried to join the battle. Their blood burning, the soldiers shouted in anger as they ran, heedlessly trampling the bodies of the dead, and smashed into the shield wall.

Three men crashed into Skylan, knocking him off balance. He floundered in the wet sand, desperate to stay on his feet, for if he went down he was finished. The three slashed at him, but they were so tightly bunched together none of them could manage to hit him. Sigurd dispatched one and Bjorn attacked another. Keeper caught hold of Skylan by the scruff of his neck and hauled him upright.

“You're wounded!” the ogre roared.

Skylan felt a vague burning pain somewhere; the blood on his armor did not all belong to his foe. He was still standing, still breathing, still able to wield his sword, however, and he shook his head.

Keeper gave a great heave and shoved Skylan back into the battle just as the front line of the shield wall crumbled. Sinarian soldiers flooded through the gaps and Skylan was fighting Sinarians on both sides. He slashed a soldier's sword arm open to the bone, causing him to drop his weapon, and backhanded another in the face with the sword's hilt, breaking his jaw and sending him reeling. Before Skylan could recover, a soldier darted through the opening left by his fallen comrade to finish Skylan with a vicious slice of his short sword across his neck.

Skylan ducked and the blow meant to cut off his head glanced off his helm and sliced open his cheek. He jabbed his sword into the man's breastplate, hoping to gain time by shoving the soldier off him until he could reestablish his footing. To his astonishment, God-rage pierced through the metal and the flesh and bone beneath and tore into the soldier's vitals. The man screamed as blood flowed down the breastplate. Skylan jerked his sword free and the man slid off the blood-smeared blade and hit the ground.

Skylan looked up to see two more Sinarian soldiers stare in shock at their dead comrade and then glance fearfully at Skylan's sword. The two veered off, seeking easier prey. Skylan touched the amulet and said a prayer of thanks, then looked around for another foe, only to find that the battle had flowed past him.

He paused to catch his breath and that was a mistake, for now he felt the pain of his wounds. Blood oozed out from beneath his breastplate and it hurt to breathe. He gave the pain to Torval and turned back to the battle to see where he was needed.

The front line of the shield wall had vanished and the ogres in the second line wavered. Bear Walker bellowed a command, urging them to press forward. The shield wall gave a great heave and the howling ogres bowled over the Sinarians, trampling them beneath their feet and swinging their axes like scythes.

Skylan cheered hoarsely, though he knew he was watching the last defiant gesture of the doomed. Sinarian soldiers fell before the ogres, but he could see more flooding in behind them, attacking the ogres as well as the Cyclopes, who had been holding the rear.

Skylan was about to join them when he saw, to his amazement, another Skylan standing only a few feet away, shouting and yelling and waving his arms. Even more astonishing, this second Skylan was as tall as a giant, half naked, bare chested, and carrying neither sword nor shield.

Skylan put his hand to his head where the sword had struck him. He had started seeing ghosts of himself, and he shut his eyes to make it go away. He opened his eyes again, only to see himself still standing on the beach and a man mounted on horseback charging at him. Firelight shone on the man's face and Skylan recognized Raegar.

Skylan shouted in triumph, crying out Torval's name.

The ghost Skylan suddenly vanished and in his place stood a wolf. The beast turned its golden eyes on Skylan, then fled across the sand and into the forest.

Skylan turned back to Raegar, who had been riding recklessly, leaning half out of his saddle, his sword raised, readying to cut down his foe, when his foe changed into a wolf before his eyes. Raegar pulled at the reins with such force that the horse reared up, hooves flailing, unseating its rider. Raegar fell heavily to the sand. Cursing the horse, he picked himself up, unhurt.

Skylan stood over him.

“Well met, Cousin,” he said.

Raegar blinked, confused, glancing to the empty place in the sand where Skylan had been standing to where this Skylan now stood—a Skylan covered in blood, wearing dented armor, and carrying a sword that seemed to blaze with fire.