Dragonsbane (Book 3) (50 page)

Kael pulled away. “I might ask you the same question,” he said with a glare that didn’t quite stifle the amusement in his voice.

Jake seemed to be in such a rush to shove his spectacles up his nose that he nearly jabbed himself in the eye. “Ah … we, ah … came to see the sunrise.”

“Is that so?”

“If that’s what the mage said we were doing,” Elena cut in, “then that’s exactly what we were doing.”

A round of giggles drew their eyes to the rocks, where Eveningwing the boy perched among the crags. He clutched his knees to his chest and his grin was so impossibly wide that they couldn’t help but smile back.

*******

“Are you ready, mutt?” Gwen said as she passed.

Kael
was
ready. The icy air slipped between his lungs and froze against the iron shell. It stirred the molten beast that lurked within him — the rage he’d had to keep pinned back for so long. Soon that beast would burst from its cage …

Soon, Titus would meet the fury of the mountains.

They stood less than a mile from Thanehold — a squat castle perched upon a hill of angry blue stone, one lone mark of man in a sea of ice and snow. The castle looked as if it’d risen along with the mountains. Its walls had been chewed by the howling winds, its thick towers so lambasted by the ice until it took on the essence of the crags.

To its right stood the summit. The way the peaks curved at their points made them look like two colossal waves: Thanehold was perched atop the crest of one, barely clinging it to its edge while the summit towered overhead — prepared to slap all of its crushing weight down upon
the fortress.

Here, the mountain’s skin was too thick for trees, its flesh too cold for beasts. It was a marker, a warning — the very embodiment of the mountain’s unforgiving spirit.
White capped its every inch, but not even winter’s jaws could do much to crack it. The summit seemed to rise with its crags crossed like arms over a chest. Though the winds scolded and shrilled, the mountains stood firm.

Kael knew Titus could see them. There was nothing for miles except the wildmen and their army. The giants, with their heavy armor and glinting scythes stood nearly as tall as the boulders. Lysander and his pirates swung their cutlasses about in practiced arcs, their eyes upon the fortress.

Jonathan had been so impressed by the craftsmen’s pounding that he’d taught them how to make drums. Now a large handful of them stood in the force’s middle, drums hanging from straps around their necks.

They were rough-looking things, crafted from scrap wood and the skins of beasts. But they thundered to life at the urging of the craftsmen’s hands. The music was a monster all its own — one that swore death to Titus. Its intentions rumbled in the echo of every stroke.

Jonathan paced before the drummers. His fiddle shrilled a warning above their roar. His smile cut hard across his lips and had there been any words to his song, Kael imagined most of them would’ve been unrepeatable.

One of the warriors passed him a shallow clay bowl. It was filled to its top with the thick, black paint of the wildmen. All of his companions had their faces painted. Even Nadine marched among the giants, her brows bent over the thin designs Elena had scrawled across her cheeks.

Kael supposed there was no harm in joining them. “Here,” he said, turning to Kyleigh. She stood patiently as he drew patterns around her eyes, stoking the green to brilliance. He was drawing a line down her chin with his thumb when she broke into a grin. “Quit flinching.”

“I can’t.”

“Well, you’re going to spoil it.”

She grabbed him by the front of the jerkin and kissed him straight on the lips — directly in the middle of absolutely everything. When she finally released him, he could barely hear the pirates’ cheers through the roar of flame.

“Scold me again, and I’ll do something that’ll
keep
you red,” she warned.

He believed her. And so he stood perfectly still as her hands brushed down his face, painting lines and swirls. No sooner had she finished than Silas was pawing at her hem.

“Paint me next! I want to look menacing.”

She obliged — though for some reason, Kyleigh seemed to be fighting back a grin the whole time she worked. When she was finished, Silas spun around excitedly: “Well, how is it? Does it look menacing?”

It looked suspiciously like a button nose and a set of long, curling whiskers to Kael. But he thought better of admitting it. “You look like a beast to be reckoned with, Silas.”

He bared his teeth in a grin.

Soldiers gathered across the fortress’s ramparts, the glint of their armor dulled by the fall of snow. The flakes fell sparsely enough that Kael could see them pacing worriedly from a distance. When the craftsmen’s song ended, the mountains fell eerily still.

Kael’s friends gathered around him. Lysander and Declan, Kyleigh and Gwen. They would be the four heads of his army, the snarling jaws of their attack — while Kael and the craftsmen knocked Titus’s feet out from under him.

“Keep to your tasks,” he said as they gathered. “He’ll try to split you, but don’t …”

His words trailed away as a strange noise filled the air. It was the clacking of chain, the groan of wood. Kael turned and saw something he never expected to see — not in all the hours he’d planned: Titus was opening the fortress door.

It was Thanehold’s only entrance. A monstrous gate creaked open over the thin strip of stone-ice that flowed up to the castle like a ramp. The gate widened just a crack, just large enough for a handful of men to march through. And standing at their head was none other than Earl Titus, himself.

There was an iron helmet clamped over his mane of hair, but Kael could still see the tangles of his beard. He dragged another man along at his side and held a dagger against the ridges of his familiar, frail back.

Kael’s stomach fell from such a height that he thought it might’ve actually flopped out at his feet. He heard Kyleigh inhale sharply at his side, felt her hands clamp around his arm.

“You can’t —”

“I have to,” he said firmly. He knew he had to. One look at how Titus menaced the dagger, and Kael knew he had no choice. “At least it’ll get me in a little quicker.”

“He’ll kill you,” Kyleigh insisted, her eyes blazing.

Kael wasn’t afraid. “He can try.”

“At least let me come with you.”

“No.” He pulled her hands from his arm and brought them to his lips. He held her like that, trying to push everything he felt out into his stare so that she could see the things he saw — so that she could understand that Titus had just slit his own throat. “Keep to your task. Do exactly what we have planned and I swear I’ll come back to you. Titus is desperate. This is all he has left … and I’m going to turn it against him.”

At last, she relented. He kissed her once, swiftly. Then before the fires could burn out, he marched alone towards the fortress.

“Where are you going, mutt?” Gwen hollered after him.

“To rescue my grandfather,” he said with a sigh.

Chapter 46

The Wright’s Army

Earl Titus watched impatiently as the Wright climbed the ramp that would lead him to the castle gates. He took note of the halting steps, the way his toes seemed to drag against the ground. He reveled in the white rings around his eyes as he stared at his grandfather.

Amos, that old crow, was wise as ever. Titus had promised that if he didn’t hold his tongue, he would gladly carve it out. He could see the warning stabbing from the darks of Amos’s eyes. He glared, practically screaming for the Wright to turn back to his army.

Perhaps Titus would pluck his eyes out in punishment … after he’d gotten a good look at his grandson’s mangled corpse, that is.

A narrow bridge of blue stone led from the frosted wastes and to the front doors of his castle. The Wright climbed it slowly, as if he expected an attack. He was right to be worried. Behind him, the many painted faces of his army watched without a sound. Giants, a few gangly seas men and those savages from the summit were all the Wright had with him. Titus could see the blankness in their stares from a distance. They would be powerless without their leader.

Even the Dragongirl would fall to his sword. He grinned at her scowl and thought:
I’ve got something planned for you. Oh, yes. Take to your wings, barbarian — I dare you to fly.

At last, the heavy steps before him ground to a stop. Titus drew his eyes from the Dragongirl’s blazing stare and into the depths of the Wright’s.

He held his hands out to the side, his palms facing Titus. “There’s no need to hurt him. Let your prisoners from the mountains go, and I’ll order my army to retreat,” he said loudly.

Titus laughed.

White blew from the Wright’s nostrils in a frustrated breath. “I’m being more than reasonable.”

Reasonable? Oh, it was far too late for that. Titus had to concentrate on the furrows between the Wright’s brows to keep his dagger from twisting — because when he looked into his eyes, it was reminded of how he’d failed.

For years he’d languished in Banagher’s army, tossed in among his last-born castoffs. He’d been one of Midlan’s common foot soldiers — a human overshadowed by the whisperers’ might. Nothing he said was heard; nothing he offered was ever quite enough. He was to salute and raise his sword, to charge at Midlan’s head. He was to be willing to give his life for the sake of those who led him … to fight for the
whisperers’
glory.

Crevan had worked for years to turn Banagher against the whisperers, and Titus had ridden the surge of unrest straight through the ranks. With the whisperers banished and the rebel forces gathering, the Kingdom was finally willing to listen. Midlan became a place where humans could toast their own victories rather than have to survive off the dregs of the more
talented
— a place where a common foot soldier might rise above his lot.

And so Titus had risen.

Crevan kept the title
warlord
, but it was only a name: Titus was the true commander of Midlan’s army. Under his guidance, they beat the rebels back. The Falsewright himself had quaked rather than return to the fortress. It was by Titus’s skill alone that Midlan was saved. But just when he was about to seal the Kingdom’s fate, Setheran had returned.

In the final battle, Titus had the Falsewright trapped. The glory was
his
for the taking — the most powerful of all whisperers was going to die by his sword. Then Setheran and his
pet
had swooped in and stolen it out from under him. He’d snatched Titus’s honor away and in a single act, undone all his years of fighting.

No one would ever remember what humans had sacrificed for the Kingdom. They would sing only of Setheran the Wright.

Now Setheran’s flesh and blood stood before him. There was no mistaking it. Every defiant edge of his features lined up so perfectly with the memories of the face that tarnished his throne. Setheran was making one final move, a last thrust from the grave.

But he would fail.

The savages would wilt beneath Titus’s poison and drench the summit with their gore — not a soul across the six regions would remember that the whisperers had ever existed. Then Setheran’s son would be made to watch as his companions were lined up and destroyed; he would be forced to gaze upon the last flickering lights of their eyes, to hear their terrified screams … to know that he’d brought them to their deaths.

Then at last, Titus would purge Setheran’s blood from the earth. Flames would devour each crimson drop and he would scatter every flake of the Wright’s ashes into the northern seas.

Yes … the hour had come.

Titus smiled. He shoved Amos forward, into his soldiers’ hands. “Very well, whisperer. Come take your grandfather — and then you and your army will leave my mountains and never return.”

The soldiers marched towards him slowly. The Wright’s eyes were so set on Amos that he didn’t see the trap until it was already too late. An archer rose from the ramparts. He aimed carefully and at the slightest tilt of Titus’s chin, he fired.

The Wright heard the bowstring. He tried to twist out of the arrow’s path but its head ripped across the top of his arm. Titus watched hungrily as red seeped out into the leather of his tunic. The Wright’s hand trembled as he clutched his wound. His eyes widened in shock as the mindrot took his strength.

“Grab him,” Titus said, and two soldiers scooped his body up. He thrust a finger at Amos. “See to it that he lives, crow. I want the Wright to watch as I destroy his army.” As Titus marched inside the fortress, he arched his neck to the ramparts and bellowed: “Seal the gates, ready the catapults. Bare your teeth, my wolves —drink your enemies’ blood!”

*******

Kael focused on hanging as limply as possible as the soldiers dragged him away. They passed through the gates and into a tunnel — the belly of a short, thick tower that sat at the front of the walls.

The tower arched over the ramp and extended a good ways into the stone village beyond. A line of men rushed by, sap-filled clay jars clutched in either hand. Kael pretended to lurch back in pain and watched as they deposited the jars against an arch of the tower’s wall — settling them alongside hundreds of others.

The Earl had packed the only entrance into Thanehold with enough firebombs to thaw the mountains’ breath. With both the gates and the doors into the stone village sealed, the tower had become something like an enormous, sap-filled jar. One spark, and it would erupt with enough force to bury anybody caught beneath it …

And he realized with a jolt that must’ve been precisely what Titus had planned.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as the Earl climbed the tower’s steps and disappeared into the upper level — the one he remembered that would lead onto the ramparts. Titus would probably wait in the loaded tower for as long as possible, just to make certain he lured the wildmen in.

It was an extremely dangerous plan, but one that was bound to work. He expected no less from the man who’d brought the Kingdom to its knees.

The soldiers carried him quickly through the stone village. The squat houses had been converted into barracks for Titus’s army. Shouts rang out from every direction as the Earl’s men prepared themselves for battle. Kael hung limply when the soldiers dragged him into the keep, watching as the passageways twisted by, trying to keep track of where he was.

The soldiers hauled him up a narrow flight of stairs and into a room at the back of the fortress. “Lock them up tight,” one of the soldiers hissed as they threw Kael inside. Amos muttered a curse as he was shoved in behind him. “Don’t open the door a crack until his Earlship sends for you.”

The door slammed, and Kael listened intently as the soldiers argued on the other side:

“… got a bad feeling about this. We ought to just gut him.”

“His Earlship wants him alive, something about making him watch …”

There was silence for a moment as the guards marched away. Kael flinched when Amos grabbed his wound.
His weathered hands shook as he inspected the thin scrape on the top of Kael’s arm. “Confound it, boy! What were you thinking? I’m not worth dying over. And I’m certainly not worth what Titus is going to do —”

“I’m all right, grandfather,” Kael said.

He pulled gently out of Amos’s grasp and leapt to his feet. The chamber door was made of solid wood. He got down on his belly and saw the shadows of two feet beneath its bottom crack. Then very quietly, he flattened the hinges, molding them so that the door wouldn’t open.

When he turned, Amos was staring at him in shock. “You’re not poisoned?”

“Why would I be? It’s only a bit of night-finger juice.”

Kael couldn’t help but smile when he thought back to what he’d done: how he’d poured the mindrot into the cottage hearth and let the flames devour it, how Morris had held the vial wedged between his nubs as Kael crushed the night-finger’s bright purple juice into it … how one small gift from a child had become the weapon he needed to topple the Earl of the Unforgivable Mountains.

And in that moment, he knew he owed Griffith a great debt.

“Are you well?”

“I’m alive and in one piece, if that’s what you’re asking.” Amos’s sharp brown eyes flicked over Kael once more, and the lines around his mouth thinned as his lips drew tight. “I’d hoped you wouldn’t come back here.”

“Well, I did. I’m not going to leave you to rot.”

“I’m old as they come, boy! The rotting is the only thing I’ve got left to look forward to. You ought to have gone and made a life for yourself. You ought to have left this whole mess behind.”

“I will,” Kael promised as he marched to the back wall. “Just as soon as I’ve taken care of Titus, you and I will go on our way.”

He ignored Amos’s muttering and focused on the wall. It bent under his hands, molding back until winter burst in. He squinted against the stabbing winds and the lashing of the snow as he widened the hole to something a man could squeeze through. He leaned out to get his bearings — only to nearly butt heads with a craftsman.

“Ha! I told you they’d stuff him in the larders,” he called triumphantly behind him.

A chorus of howls answered and Kael saw a whole line of craftsmen waiting on the slope beneath him. The whole back end of the castle jutted out over The Drop, suspended over an infinite fall to the northern seas by little more than a ledge of stone-ice. It was a slick, jagged climb — nothing a human could’ve scaled. But under the craftsmen’s hands, a strip of the angry blue ledge had been smoothed into a ramp.

The craftsmen clambered along their ramp and into the hole Kael had made for them. Their painted faces were frosted over, their breaths came out sharply — and their grins couldn’t possibly have been any wider.

“You were right,” one of them panted. “The Man of Wolves has his eyes set on the walls. He never thought to check his back.”

He’d never thought to check because he’d been certain the wildmen wouldn’t be able to think on their own. Titus was still treating them like children: he expected them to charge straight for his gates and never give any thought to strategy. So Kael was giving him exactly what he expected.

He was about to give the order to press on when Elena slipped in at the back of the craftsmen’s line. “Jake said you might need someone who knows how to move quietly,” she said, eyes darting over her mask to take in the room. “So, here I am.”

He led her over to Amos — who was scowling at the craftsmen. “I can’t believe you brought this lot with you. I can’t believe you
got
them to come with you!”

Kael didn’t have time to explain. If the craftsmen were already here, it meant they’d have to pick up their feet. “Do you know where Titus is keeping his other prisoners?”

Amos pointed. “Two rooms down.” He watched in amazement as the craftsmen began digging a hole out of the next wall.

Kael latched Amos’s weathered fingers around Elena’s arm. “Take him back to Jake — don’t let him out of your sight. I’ll join you as soon as I can.”

Amos looked as if he was about to argue when a low, groaning noise came from the back wall. It made the floors tremble and sent grit raining down from the ceiling. “What in Kingdom’s name was that?” Amos sputtered.

Kael grinned; the molten beast swelled hungrily inside its chest. “It’s the song of my craftsmen.”

*******

Titus climbed the tower’s weatherworn steps, bellowing orders as he marched. A set of narrow windows ringed its top. From here, he could see the entire battlefield spread out before him. He paced around the windows, taking note of the rampart doors on either side.

Those poor, fumbling savages hadn’t learned a thing from their last beating. Their forces hurled themselves uselessly against his walls, wasting their breath in a wholly unimaginative attack.

The seas men lined archers up against his eastern edge, while the giants charged the western. The main force stood directly before his gates — led by the Dragongirl and a female savage who wielded a two-headed axe. He remembered her as the one who’d begged him to call off his attack.