Dragon Bonds (Return of the Darkening Series Book 3) (22 page)

Only family,
Kalax repeated in my mind.

I liked what the instructor was trying to say. I wanted to let him know I had learned that lesson. Before I could, a low booming shook the walls.

Low and powerful, it was a sound I would never forget.

“The Dragon Horns,”
Varla said, looking from Thea to Merik and then to me.

The vast, brass horns were each as big as a person and had been used by the guards to signal Dragon Riders. It was a sound of warning or challenge and meant someone at the gates was summoning the last Dragon Riders loyal to the true King of Torvald.

I
was staring
at Seb when the Dragon Horns sounded, vibrating in my chest and in my bones. My mind was still trying to grasp what Mordecai had been saying.

He believes in us. He believes that we can do this.
Somehow his faith was reassuring—Mordecai had never spoken lightly. The Dragon Rider in me didn’t see how anything had changed from a few minutes ago—in fact, with the Dragon Horns blowing an alarm, our life had just seemed to get drastically worse.

And now we knew that one of our best leaders, Commander Hegarty, was dead.

From the looks of him, Mordecai seemed not far from collapsing. I couldn’t think on what he must have endured, bearing the broken body of his friend back to the Academy. If any man was spent—it must be him.

Which meant our army had the king, Ryan as a commander, and the rest of us who hadn’t ever been given as much as a squadron assignment.

And yet, we’ve probably seen more battles than any but Thorri and her Wildmen.

Striding to the window, I scanned the horizon for possible danger. “Beris must be sounding the Dragon Horn,” Tightening my hand into a fist, I cursed. “We told him to stay out of sight. He’ll bring the whole of Lord Vincent’s army down on top of us!”

Seb stepped up to my side and pointed to the southwest. “Look south by southwest.”

I followed where he was pointing, shading my eyes with one hand and squinting against the early morning light. On the horizon, I could see dark, almost black, clouds rising up. Colors—reds and yellows—flashes in the distance. Was that lightning?

The line grew in size and shape—I was seeing dragon wings as they cut the light and cast shadows. I could see reds, greens, blues and even the orange and yellow of some Southern dragons at the head of a cloud of black dragons.

“The Darkening?” My mouth dried. Was my brother riding with them, along with other Dragon Riders who were now controlled by the Memory Stone?

Muttering something, Seb headed up the steps and to the viewing gallery. He put an eye to the brass tellyscup.

Merik clambering up beside him and elbowed Seb aside. “I was always better with these than with any viewing glasses. You’re the better pilot.”

Seb didn’t argue but came down the stairs again. Merik adjusted the internal panes of glass and tube lengths—it was as much an art as a science to be a good spotter, and Merik was better at it than any of us.

Turning back to the window, I watched the approaching dragons. They seemed to be gaining speed and headed straight for Torvald.

Merik was mumbling, talking to himself, but then he spoke up, the words clear and loud. “I’m seeing a large force of black dragons, some with Wildmen for riders. That’s got to be Lord Vincent’s forces.” He licked his lips. “They’re chasing another group—Middle Kingdom dragons and what looks like a few Southern Realm dragons.”

“Southern Realm? A few joined the king! Ah, Hegarty, old friend, you did not die in vain,” Mordecai said, standing and limping over to stand behind us. “How many How many are with the king?”

“Uh, wait, hard to tell.” Merik’s voice faded to almost a whisper as he calculated. We had practiced enough when training, learning how to guess numbers in a flock of birds, a swarm of bees or a pride of dragons.

Guess the number in a small area and multiply how many areas there might be and then you have the number
.

“King’s forces approximately a hundred,” Merik said. It sounded like he was trying to be enthusiastic.

“Enemy forces?” I asked, my heart thudding in slow beats.

“Not good,” Merik said.

“Enemy numbers?”
Mordecai barked out the words. He still could summon that instructor’s voice that could strike terror into the spine of any cadet or Dragon Rider.

Merik let out a breath. “At least seven hundred dragons. I can’t tell how many ground troops.”

My mind blanked at such numbers—seven to one. No wonder the king’s dragons were fleeing. Despair settled into a hard lump in my chest. Reaching down, I touched the leather pouch that held the King’s Dragon Stone. It seemed very warm, but I couldn’t use it at this distance—could I? And what if I did and killed everyone?

Varla nudged my side with her elbow. “So we can do anything if we do it together? Wonder if that includes dying together.”

I glanced at her. “Enough of that! Don’t think about failure. Think about fighting. And surviving.” I gave her a smile, hoping she would take my rebuke as one of encouragement. She gave a shrug and I glanced up at Merik. “How long until they reach the city?”

Merik frowned. “They’re holding back. The enemy, that is—Lord Vincent’s forces. They aren’t really trying to engage the king’s dragons or bring them down. It looks like they’re just driving them on—not letting anyone break away or turn.”

“That’s just cruel,” Seb said. He shook his head, his mouth pressed into a thin line.

“No, it makes good battle sense. When you are so sure of winning, why not push your enemy? Hound your foe to the point of exhaustion and then you can have done with the lot of them with few casualties to your own forces. This is it. This will be the final battle. And I think Lord Vincent wants to see the king defeated over the capital of the Middle Kingdom.”

“I don’t know.” Shaking his head, Merik looked away from the tellyscup and glanced at Seb. “The enemy is holding quite a bit back, letting the king’s forces get further and further away.”

I could hear the screeches and roars of the oncoming dragons now and see them as more than just a moving line. To me, they looked tired with wings that beat slow and heads that drooped ever so slightly. The scent of blood carried to me. Our dragons were flying lower and lower, and I sensed alarm from Kalax—these were her kind and kin. Which left me thinking of my other brother.

Where are you, Ryan? Are you there? Are you still alive?

“Come on.” I signaled to the others. “Let’s get the gates closed and the dragon platforms that still stand cleared as best as we can. We might as well make it easy for them to land. If we’re going to have a last stand, let’s have it here.”

“I’ll summon Kalax and the other dragons here,” Seb said.

“There is one trebuchet working. I’ll man it.” Mordecai turned and limped to the door, moving faster than any of us.

As I ran down the stone steps, the heavy lump of the King’s Dragon Stone bounced in my leather pouch at my side. I patted it and held it still.

Soon we’ll see just what you can do.

And that might be was the last thing I ever did.

* * *

A
s the king’s
dragons flew over the city, a few dark arrows shot up from enemy forces inside the city and fell back to the ground. We worked fast to close the gates and get rubble from the fallen tower stacked up to help them hold. Mordecai, as he’d promised, manned the one working weapon we had—the wooden trebuchet that could launch stones or balls of fire into the sky. But the enemy forces held back.

Beris and Syl blew the Dragon Horns again, trying to signal the king’s forces they could safely land at the Academy.

Sweaty now, my hands skinned from lifting rocks and getting the gates closed—they creaked and groaned as if they’d never before moved—I looked up at the sky. Kalax and our dragons had come at once and now sat within the Academy, perched in the training yard. How would we get a hundred dragons in here? I didn’t know, but we’d have to do it somehow—and then we had the problem of feeding everyone. Were we safe here or trapping ourselves within stone walls? At least the Academy had its own well—no one would lack for water.

Within a short time, the air stirred with dragon breaths and wing beats. The king’s dragons whirled and wheeled over the Academy. Some perched on the landing platforms, others came down to land on the fallen towers, the ramparts, or even on ruined roofs.

I had never seen the Academy so filled with dragons. Ironically, this came at a time when this was perhaps the smallest number of Dragon Riders the Academy had ever boasted. Usually, only two squadrons of fifty dragons would be active in the air over the city, while the other dragons rested in the enclosure, and another four squadrons patrolled our borders. Now, we had no dragons in the enclosure—it had been destroyed when Lord Vincent’s armies had taken the city.

The few Southern Realm dragons with the king seemed to know nothing about landing platforms. They came straight down to the ground and landed with dusty thuds. Riders climbed or almost fell off the backs of their dragons. This close, I could see the marks of battle—wings torn, arrows sticking out of saddle leather and harness, blood stains and torn leathers. The Academy stank now of blood and dragon sweat. The dragons all seemed too tired to even roar or bicker—and our wild, black dragons huddled close together, glancing around as if they feared attack.

That had me thinking of the enemy.

I glanced up at the sky but it hadn’t filled with enemy dragons. Arrows didn’t pour down on us. There was no challenge at all.

“Why are they not attacking?” I muttered, asking no one in particular and everyone in general.

Heading up to the top of the wall, I could see the enemy dragons hovering over the southern half of the city. They circled there as if they had nothing better to do. What were they planning?

From the top of the wall, I glanced down. I had a better view here and could see the mix of dragons—a few from the Southern Realm, their riders distinct by their light armor and their dark skins. The glint of gold caught my eye—the king’s crown.

Pushing through the crowd of riders, I headed to the nearest landing platform, for I had seen Ryan.

I called his name.

He’s safe! Thank the First Dragon, he’s safe!

He saw me and caught me up in a hug and spun me around. I slapped his shoulder. “I knew you were too much a Flamma to die!”

That remark left him frowning. He put me on my feet, and from behind him, a tired voice I knew said, “Lord Vincent gave us one day to surrender or die.”

I glanced over Ryan’s shoulder and saw King Justin.

He looked as battered as any other rider, his armor stained black from dragon fire, his face lined as if he had aged a dozen year in this short time.

Bowing, I muttered, “My king.”

Justin put up a hand. “Don’t.” He sounded almost as old as time itself. For a moment, I feared the mind sickness still lay upon him from his time under the influence of the Memory Stone. but his eyes seemed clear and sharp, and full also of misery. “What sort of king am I, to lead my people to this?” he asked.

I shared a look with Ryan—kings and princes were not meant to indulge in such talk. Mouth pressed tight, Ryan shook his head as if it all was already lost.

I heard an uneven step behind me and Mordecai pushed through the crowd. He had obviously heard the king’s words for he said, “You are my king, and that is all that I—or any
—
need to know, sire.” Reaching out, he clasped King Justin by the shoulders in a traditional Dragon Riders’ embrace. Mordecai leaned forward. “You are a king and your people need you. Do not fail them at this time. Remember your father and all who have died in protecting your realm.”

Justin stood a little straighter, nodding to himself.

Walking to the edge of the landing platform, high on the walls of the Academy, the king stretched out his hands and called out, “My people—my troops.”

Everyone—dragon and riders—fell silent. Even the groans of those wounded were bitten off.

The king pulled off his helmet with its golden crown. “We have suffered much…some would say too much. But we are come home. The blood of dragons runs through each and every one of you, and it is fitting that here, in our birthplace, we shall make our last stand! Our enemy would see us grovel—would see us beg on a bended knee to be made into slaves. Our enemy would see us serve the Darkening and becomes something foul. But I say we stand free—we will die free if we must. Each and every woman, man and dragon has done me proud this day and every day before it. I am glad to call myself your king, and prouder still to call myself a Dragon Rider of Torvald!”

Following his words, an echoing, ragged cheer rose from all of us and even the dragons roared approval. For the first time in a long time, our king sounded like a true leader.

Justin lifted his hands again and the riders and dragons quieted. “For now, take your rest. See to it that your brothers and sisters and steeds are well cared for. Sharpen your arrows and your swords and bind your wounds. Tomorrow we face our enemies over the skies of Torvald.”

Silence fell. I glanced at the faces around me and knew others must be thinking what I was—tomorrow we rode to our deaths.

A distant voice called out, “All hail Torvald. All hail the king!”

The shout sprang up from a woman’s voice—I didn’t know whose. But I took it up and then I heard Mordecai start the chant. Soon the words echoed from every Dragon Rider.

The chant continued as Ryan put a hand to the king’s elbow, guiding him down from the platform. I could see the king was half dead on his feet. Mordecai and I followed. Back on the ground in the training yard, Seb found me. We headed into the keep, filled now with riders, most of them wounded.