Son of the Dragon (The Netherworld Gate Book 3) (17 page)

Talon eyed the drow and laughed. “I thought you said you found out about me through father’s intuition?”

Fyrik smiled and offered a wink. “Partly,” he conceded. “In any case, once I got her to open up, I saw there was a connection there.”

“A connection?” Talon repeated. “She did tell you that I threatened to tie her to a mast right?”

Fyrik smiled. “My wife once threatened to hit me in the head with a rock. It was the beginning of a wonderful courtship that eventually led to a very happy marriage.”

“A rock? What were you doing, spying through her window?”

“No,” Fyrik said with a wistful smile. “I followed her to the fields where she picked flowers with her sisters. I thought I was so clever and sneaky, but she caught me. She picked up a round stone and threw it in my direction, promising that the next one would hit its mark if I didn’t leave.”

“And that led to marriage?” Talon asked skeptically.

Fyrik shook his head. “No, but the flowers I left on her doorstep, along with a poem I penned as an apology for spooking her earned me enough rapport that she and I were able to strike up a friendship. That soon blossomed into something else.” Fyrik sighed and raised his hand to wipe a tear that had formed suddenly. “She died during the wars.”

“I am sorry,” Talon offered.

Fyrik nodded. “I saw the way you steal glances at my Elorien,” he said as he sniffed back the tears and cleared his throat. “It is the same way I stole chances to look at my dear wife.” He turned and patted Talon on the leg. “You ask me how I can suggest an assassin could marry my daughter, but you forget that I helped orchestrate the banishment of an entire race. That single act resulted in many deaths. I know what it is to be compelled by vengeance.” Fyrik rose from his seat and looked down at Talon with a soft smile. “We all have a past, my young friend, but it is the course we set today and tomorrow that determine what kind of honor we will have. Just, think on my suggestion. You might find that your solace will come from a family of your own, and not the vengeance you
think
you need.”

“I still don’t think you are telling me the whole of it,” Talon said.

Fyrik frowned and sat upright, pulling back from Talon. “What else is there to say?”

“How about you just admit that you want to broker the marriage because you know I am going to be a demi-god? Do you think I can’t see your play for power?”

Fyrik bristled. “It is not power for me that I want, but a better life for my people.”

“Your people can come to the astral plane after I slay Basei,” Talon said. “There is no need to go behind your daughter’s back and assign her to me like she is chattel to be bought and sold.”

Fyrik stood and pointed a threatening finger at Talon’s face. “That is not what this is! Who are you to tell me what to do?”

Talon saw Leflin approach quickly, ready to pounce. The assassin motioned for Leflin to wait. “Fyrik…”

“No, you listen,” Fyrik snarled. “I am the patriarch of the Tomni’Tai. You are the patriarch of your Sierri’Tai. There may be other clan leaders present, but marrying them to Elorien will not produce a true union of our peoples. I am offering a chance to end the suffering of our peoples by uniting them. It isn’t a bargain to gain power, it is the proper tradition. In order for our two nations to join, you must join by blood, by marriage. We must make our peoples one family. I know your ways are different, but that is what Tomni’Tai tradition dictates. To take us along and grant us a place beside your people would only be an insult to us, unless we offer an equal gift to you. I cannot live in a place where we are second rate citizens; that is how we have lived for the last five hundred years.”

Talon shook his head and held up a hand, noticing that there were a few Tomni’Tai elves listening in now. “Sit down,” Talon said.

Fyrik refused and folded his arms over his chest.

“Alright,” Talon said. “Stand, but your daughter is already married, and I still cannot accept that you would bargain with her life, even if it did join our people.”

Fyrik’s dark face took on a cherry-colored hue and a vein in his forehead throbbed. Talon was unsure whether he had said something specifically that offended the patriarch of the Tomni’Tai, or if the simple act of arguing with Fyrik was so abhorrent to the drow leader.

“My daughter is no longer married to her former husband. I have announced their divorcement. As for deciding to whom she will be betrothed, that is my choice, as I am the patriarch. I may give her to whomever I please.”

Talon watched Fyrik storm off back to the cabin and disappear through the door. He then caught sight of Elorien, standing on the port side, leaning just over the edge of the boat and letting the evening breeze push her hair out behind her. The assassin let his eyes trace her curves and he couldn’t help but wonder, just for a moment, if perhaps there was something to the old drow’s words.

*****

Talon woke early the next morning to shouts and commotion coming from the deck above. He jumped off his cot and clambered out of the cabin to see what the matter was. What he saw was a large naval vessel sailing toward them. It flew Shausmatian flags and archers were lining the sides of the ship. Talon took in a breath when he saw a ballista launcher being wheeled into place.

“My king,” Leflin said as he approached quickly. “Give the order and we can destroy the vessel with our magic.”

Talon nodded swiftly. “Do it.”

Leflin turned and shouted in Taish. Talon held his breath as a hail of arrows flew up from the Shausmatian ship, arching over the vessels Talon was leading, and heading down for them. A shield of fire formed over the boats, incinerating the arrows. Then, three columns of swirling fire shot out toward the Shausmatian ship. The flames bored through the hull in seconds, ripping the wood apart and rocking the ship back.

Men shouted and screamed. Some dove into the water, while others tried to fire their missiles at the boats. The ship soon snapped in half, the aft section crashing down into the sea and spraying water out around it.

It appeared that the battle was over before it had really begun, but as the ship sank below the surface, Talon spied five smaller ships that had been blocked from view by the larger vessel.

“It isn’t over,” Talon shouted.

Out of the corner of his eye, Talon saw Elorien push the current pilot out of the way and take control of the helm. She looked to Talon and nodded as she maneuvered the vessel toward the enemy ships to present a narrower target.

At the same time, Fyrik shouted at all of the Tomni’Tai, herding them into the cabin and out of the way.

Arrows flew at the boats. The Sierri’Tai warriors worked furiously to maintain the fire shield over the small fleet. Unfortunately, the smaller vessels each were equipped with a lighter scorpion launcher. The heavy missiles were fired so that their trajectory sailed below the fire shield. Two of the boats were struck. One was hit three times in the hull, and the other was hit twice. The elves on the damaged boats struggled to keep their vessels afloat. The warriors on the undamaged boats retaliated swiftly, raining fire down upon the other naval ships. A smoking fireball blasted into one, shattering the vessel and throwing charred bodies out into the sea. Two more had their hulls grazed and broken, and quickly took on water until they turned sharply into the water and began to sink.

Another volley from the scorpion launchers flew directly at Talon’s boat. Elorien had seen the launchers redirecting at them, and was turning the boat so sharply that the port side nearly dipped under the water as the boat swerved. The maneuver worked, and the two missiles flew by, one missing by a wide margin, and the other only glancing off the hull.

Talon was only barely able to hold on as the boat pitched, others were thrown down to the deck, tumbling toward the port side. That was when Talon saw him. One of the young Tomni’Tai elves had hidden himself on deck, and now he was tumbling across the wet planks toward the descending port side railing. One of the Sierri’Tai warriors reached out, but failed to catch the boy. He toppled out over the side rail and into the water.

Before he had time to think, Talon was leaping into the water. He dove down, swimming after the youngling who was sinking quickly and leaking air bubbles from his mouth as he had been shouting for help when he fell. The assassin seized the child’s shirt and pulled him close. Then, he hooked one arm under the child’s armpit and changed directions in the water, dragging the youngling up toward the surface.

As they broke out from the water, Talon saw that the boat had sailed a good ten yards away from them. Elorien was shouting and working the vessel to bring it around. The warriors were focused on their spells, throwing fire at the remaining ships.

“Hang on, youngling,” Talon said as the child sputtered and wrestled against him. It was obvious that the boy was panicked. He was digging his nails into Talon’s arm, clawing to pull himself up over the assassin and thrashing his legs as well. Talon tightened his grip and turned over onto his back, leveraging the child above the water and also giving himself a better angle to keep the struggling youngling safe.

It seemed like hours before the boat finally drew close to them again. A mess of hands reached down and pulled Talon and the boy from the water, heaving them up onto the deck. Even after they were out of the water, the youngling thrashed for several seconds before finally calming down. The little one’s mother rushed in and held him tightly, kissing him on the forehead and cheek as she buried him in her arms. Someone brought a blanket and wrapped it around them.

Talon pushed up, aided by someone pulling him from behind as he stood.

“The enemy is defeated,” Leflin said.

Talon nodded and moved to the starboard side of the boat so he could see the other ships. Burning heaps of wood jutted out of the water at sharp angles while a thick, black smoke hung over the entire area.

Fyrik emerged from the cabin and approached Talon.

“Shall we look for survivors?” Fyrik asked Talon.

Talon shook his head. “Two of our boats were damaged. Let’s ensure that those vessels can still sail. If not, then we need to transfer those people to other boats. Let the Shausmatians die.”

Fyrik frowned and turned to the elves. Leflin interpreted Talon’s order. Elorien motioned for the previous pilot to resume his position. The Tomni’Tai elf set a course for the most heavily damaged boat carrying the other drow elves as Elorien came up beside Talon and leaned on the side rail.

“When you jumped in to save the child, I thought you had changed quite a bit, but I see now that I was mistaken,” Elorien said. “It is cruel to let those men die by the sea.”

Talon turned a sharp eye on her and shook his head. “To save the Shausmatian sailors is to bring danger into our midst. There is a war raging on the mainland. Once we land, they will turn on us. Better to let them die so that we may live.”

Talon then turned away from her and moved to aid the others in transferring supplies and people to their boat from the damaged boat. It was more than obvious that the projectiles had done their job. The three holes in the hull were letting in water, and the ship was losing its buoyancy.

Even with all of the remaining boats coming in to help, they only just barely managed to move all of the supplies from the damaged boats before the sea swallowed the vessels and dragged them down into the deep.

Fyrik and others helped ensure that the people and supplies were redistributed in a way that made the additional weight manageable, and then they continued their voyage.

*****

Hiasyntar’Kulai, the great golden dragon known as the Father of the Ancients, stood watch over the ruins of Valtuu Temple. Several priests worked near the rubble, building a new home for their order. The sound of pickaxes and hammers working the stone rang out melodically as the hot sun bore down from overhead.

With the former prelate dead, and the Keeper of Secrets missing along with Lady Dimwater, the order had decided it best to reestablish the temple so that Hiasyntar’Kulai would have a place to rest and recuperate as he resumed his duties watching over the people of the Middle Kingdom.

Tu’luh had been defeated, and the orcs had been driven back to the south, but there were still dangers that threatened the fragile peace within the kingdom. With Master Lepkin’s disappearance, nobles were again jostling for favor with the old king, hoping he might name them as his successor in the event of his death.

It was also possible that other orc tribes could attack from the south. The Middle Kingdom had suffered a great many losses, and could ill afford to fend off another assault just yet.

Still, despite all of this, there was hope. Nagar’s Secret had been destroyed, and the threat it brought with it was vanquished.

Hiasyntar’Kulai turned and saw a stranger standing on the grassy hill with him. The Father of the Ancients did not know him by name, but he knew his order.

“Do you come bearing grave news?” the dragon asked in his low, deep voice.

The stranger pulled back the green hood on his cloak. “I am here seeking answers,” he said. “I recently visited the dwarf king, and thought that perhaps I should come and visit you as well.”