Samual (35 page)

From then on it became a waiting game for Sam. He concentrated only on maintaining and increasing the thick cloud of fog all around them, while the drake flew overhead, looking for anyone to attack. According to the sentries it was circling, like a buzzard over a dying animal, blinded by the fog, but still somehow aware that its prey lay within.

Meanwhile Wyldred had galloped off with a group of soldiers looking for the weather mages, who had somehow disappeared on them. Or at least he'd started off galloping for them. That was the problem with the fog. Even as it protected them it limited their own ability to see one another within it. Nor did the horses run, but trotted slowly, as their riders carried torches and called out to any who might be ahead.

Of course the real danger would come when the weather mages finally acted. If they weren't careful, they could blow their protective fog away as they tried to upset the machina's flight. That could be deadly, but he was certain that Wyldred, would discuss that with the wizards. Once he found them!

The other worry was that the wizards would be successful and the steel drake – easily the size of a six horse wagon – would come crashing down to the ground in the midst of the elves, and promptly explode. If it did so it would kill everyone within a hundred yards as the magic within it was released in a blast of fire. It might even kill Ry. The thought was terrifying but there was little else that could be done. If the creature wasn't destroyed, it could kill all of them.

But at least they had the fog to hide them,

Unfortunately it wasn't enough. The drake apparently decided that it didn't matter what it could or couldn't see. It only mattered that its targets were somewhere in the fog. And so it struck. There was a blast of something, fire and orange light making the clouds glow, and then an explosion as it laid down its fire breath, that was followed by screaming. The drake had attacked!

For a moment Sam was struck almost senseless as he realised what had happened. And then his heart started thumping as he understood they were all in danger. This thing didn't care that it couldn't see them. It was going to strike at them again and again until it had found and killed them all. And there was absolutely nothing he could do.

He couldn't strike at it. Even if his fire would have some effect on the creature, he couldn't see it to hit it. His fog had blinded him too.

He didn't even know if the drake had hit anyone. He couldn't tell where it had struck. If it was anywhere near the people. All he knew was that it had attacked and people had screamed in terror. And that it was going to do it again and again.

Sure enough fifteen or twenty beats of his heart later he saw the sky turn completely orange once more and heard another explosion followed by more screaming, and he knew that if no one had been hurt, sooner or later they would be. And Ry and her family were somewhere out there!

How could he be so helpless? He was one of the most powerful spell casters there was, and yet there was nothing he could do against this enemy. Nothing except create more and more fog and pray to the All Father.

While Sam waited, as helpless as the other elves around him, he concentrated on keeping his calm and maintaining the fog. There was nothing else he could do. He wanted to run to Ry. He wanted to destroy these beasts. But he could do neither. The worst of it all was that he had no idea how long it would be before those who could do something finally acted.

So he kept putting all his magic into creating the fog and praying each and every time the sky lit up and the ground shook that Ry was safe. He couldn't lose her. Not now. Not after everything they had gone through.

The time passed achingly slowly as he worked, with the only knowledge he had of the drake coming from the nearer sentries who reported the drake's position as it flew overhead, hunting them, and the direction of the flashes of light. Nothing however seemed to change. The drake wasn't yet wobbling in its flight or falling out of the sky according to the look outs when they spotted it. Instead it continued to circle above them, searching for targets and raining down fire on them every so often. Sam's nerves began to stretch. Because the longer this went on he knew, the greater the chance it would hit Ry.

Sam could hold the fog shape all day and night if he had to, though it would soon start to get cold and wet inside it. But the interminable waiting for the weather mages to strike back was eating him alive. He had always been a soldier, a man of action. Waiting for a battle was the worst of all possible times, especially when the enemy was already striking at them. And still there was nothing to do.

An age seemed to pass that way, and for the longest time Sam began to worry that the War Master had been unable to find any of the weather mages. Maybe the fog was simply too thick. By then it was hard to see your hand in front of your face. Even the scouts trying to rush to the edge of it to spot the drakes, were useless. The edges of the fog were simply too far away for them to be heard as they shouted back what they saw. Especially when people kept screaming as each new blast shook the ground and lit up the sky. Their screams drowned out whatever the scouts shouted.

Maybe the wizards were right at the rear of the caravan, a full half a league back. If so, Master Wyldred would have a long slow trip as he searched for them.

He wasn't alone. All around him he could hear the Council guards talking to each other, wondering much the same as him, even as they waited for one of the drake's blasts to hit them. Some of them came close. Close enough to deafen them. But none hit.

And then finally, just when Sam was beginning to wonder if it was ever going to end, the mages acted.

The first any of them knew of it was when they heard the sound of the wind whistling. It sounded much as it did when it whipped around the sides of buildings in the larger cities. But there were no buildings nearby, no wind either, or at least none that he could feel, and despite his fear, none of the fog seemed to be blowing away. The breeze was blowing either above or outside of the protective fog.

Rapidly the sound became louder and louder, until even where he was, which was presumably a long way from the weather mages, he could hear nothing other than the wind. He couldn't even hear his own voice when he shouted his questions at the sentries. Doubtless they couldn't hear him either. But though he couldn't hear anything and he couldn't see anything either, the one thing he did know was that the attacks had stopped. The sky was no longer turning orange every so often.

Then, just when he thought things couldn't get any stranger, he heard a new sound entering the mix; thunder. It rolled around them as though it was coming out of the very ground beneath their feet, while above them the fog kept turning white with the flashes of lightning. While he had no idea what was going on outside the fog, one thing at least was certain. Wyldred had found the weather mages.

The storm continued unabated for what seemed like ages while Sam and the others stood there and fretted. It seemed impossible that a storm could rage like that for so long. Surely it had to abate eventually? But finally, as with everything else, it began to ebb. First the thunder and lightning seemed to lessen, and then even the roaring of the wind around them began to fade. The battle he realised, was over. He just hoped they'd won. And that not too many people had been hurt. He began praying some more to the All Father, desperately hoping that Ry and her family were alright.

Unexpectedly a gentle rain began to fall on them, falling out of the greyness above, and despite his sudden alarm as he tried to rebuild the fog, the sky above them started clearing. Even as he threw all his magic into turning the rain itself into more fog, the last of his ability was taken away when a gentle breeze came out of nowhere to blow the clouds away. Against that he had no answer. The fire mage had been bested by the weather mages in a magical battle, something that normally wouldn't be possible. But then weather was their bailiwick, not his.

Knowing his defeat, Sam instead released the last of his fog shape, and started drawing ever more fire into him, just in case he needed to launch a fire ball or two, though he feared it would be a waste of time. Drakes were said to be fireproof. But then he remembered the black drake in the test realm after it had been hit by his fire ring. Real or not, that creature had been hurt by his magic, and surely the steel drake couldn't be as tough despite the legends? It was spelled to be fire proof rather than naturally immune as were its flesh and blood cousins.

Shortly after that the skies above cleared completely, and Sam like everyone around him desperately started hunting for signs of the drake. But they couldn't see it. Wherever it was, it wasn't flying above them.

But the caravan had been hit. He could see smoke rising from half a dozen fires, and he knew that where they blazed the steel drake's fire balls had struck. He also knew that people there would be dead and more would be injured. He could hear the distant cries of men and woman searching for their loved ones; maybe even mourning them. It wasn't total devastation. It was nothing like what had happened in Shavarra. And this time the enemy had been destroyed. But it was bad enough. Unfortunately while his instinct was to go to them, he knew there was nothing he could do for them. He was no healer. He was a soldier. His job had to be to find and kill the enemy – wherever he was.

He couldn't even go to Ry to make sure she was alright. His place was with the soldiers. And if she wasn't, what could he do? He wasn't even sure where their wagon was in the confusion all around. There were people everywhere, running around crazily, shouting and crying. More were rushing around with buckets of water as they put out the fires. Horses were running wild too, panicked by the battle. The entire caravan was a picture of chaos and he had no idea where anyone was within it. Logic told him that she was probably fine. There were only half a dozen fires and it was a huge caravan. The odds were surely in her favour. But logic didn't bring him the comfort he craved. He wanted certainty. He wanted to know she was well. And he simply couldn't know that. Not yet. How could he be so powerful and so helpless at the same time?

“Look!”

The call came from one of the guards, and Sam like the rest turned to see him pointing at the distant sand hills, where a still smouldering blackened husk could be seen half buried in them. With a sense of unbelievable relief he realised that the drake was down. More than down, it was dead.

Then, as he saw more people calling out and more hands pointing, he realised it was also in pieces. The storm had torn the drake into three massive pieces, and they had been scattered everywhere. Whatever the mages had conjured up had been more powerful than anything Sam had ever known they could do. Maybe he should stop thinking of them as simply farming wizards.

But then when he turned around to stare at the pieces of the drake, Sam realised that two of them had heads and the awful truth dawned. It had not been one drake sent to attack them but three. Even as the elves all around him were beginning their celebrations, Sam felt a shiver of cold running up and down his spine. Three steel drakes! It was unheard of in the Dragon Wars. Normally they were sent off on their own to harass villagers and keep the various armies busy trying to hunt them down. No more than one had normally been needed. And even at the end of the wars, when it had been discovered that weather wizards could bring them down, they'd been sent out in pairs to attack columns from opposite directions, their prime target the wizard himself. But three? Never.

Which meant one of three things. This new Dragon was very, very angry with them, very worried, or – and the thought sat like a lump of burning lead in his gut – the Dragon had so many of these things that he didn't need to send them out alone. All of the options were bad. Very bad.

While he sat there on Tyla, brooding and worrying about his wife, Sam noticed an exodus of soldiers from the caravan wandering over to the giant steel corpses, and almost on instinct he joined them, heading towards the nearest one. It was partly curiosity. After all, it was the chance to see something close up that hadn't been seen in thousands of years. But it was anger too. He needed to satisfy himself that these things were truly dead.

The elves he guessed felt the same, though unlike him they saw this mainly as a victory. Three steel drakes had been slain, few of their people had been hurt, unlike the last time the Dragon had struck, and now they had the chance to gloat over their fallen enemy and study his remains. Some were singing, many were smiling and talking excitedly among themselves. Many were brandishing weapons as if they meant to attack whatever remained of the drakes. None seemed to share Sam's sense of dread, and he hadn't the heart to break their festive mood. This was a victory and they needed it. Now more than ever they needed something to cheer about as they headed into a wasteland, destined for a life unknown while still carrying the memories of too many loved ones who had passed on. Later he would share his thoughts with the elders, assuming they didn't already know them.