Cold Hearted Son of a Witch (Dragoneers Saga) (9 page)

Jenka didn’t know what to do. He didn’t really want to kill the young beast, but it gave him little choice. It leapt with filthy, swiping claws and would have ripped half of his face off if he hadn’t run it through.

Things happened quickly after that. Jade saw that his compassion was misplaced and finished crunching the mother orc in his jaws. He let her drop, then head-rammed one of the youngsters almost flat into the stone. The remaining young orc practically ran up the side of the wall, getting around Jenka, but it charged right into Lemmy. The half-elvish woodsman’s dagger buried to the hilt in the orc’s chest and was then withdrawn just as swiftly.

The male will return soon,
Lemmy observed. Seeing Jenka’s troubled expression, he added,
It
had to be done, Jenka. Little orcs become big orcs and they have to be reduced for man to survive.

“I think the male’s here now,” Jenka said aloud as he started into a jog out of the cavern.

Lemmy’s magical light extinguished as the two of them, with Jade right behind, eased into the light of day to find a man and his twitching horse lying pummeled under an uprooted tree. Commander Stark was calling out orders to the men, but was nowhere to be seen. A man with a misshapen leg was rolling around whimpering pitifully. The huge alpha orc had three mounted men pressed half back onto the steep, treed slope.
Jenka, seeing that the rangers were about to be forced into a deadly fall, charged forth and took a huge, heavy swing with his sword.

He was too far away to cut deeply into the beast, but a sharp explosion of Dour magic from the dragon’s tear answered Jenka’s need and dropped the creature into a heap.

“Nah, Richins,” one of the rangers who’d been spared a tumble said. “That Dragoneer there, with the sword, now that’s a nasty bastard.”

“He ain’t
no
bastard,” the other replied. “That
be
Jericho De Swasso’s get. His ma was that kettle witch from Crag.”

Hearing that made Jenka want to scream.

Chapter 10

The long days of flying back from the islands went faster with Marcherion and Blaze along side of them. Rikky asked question after question, and March, after so many months of flying alone, answered them readily. Neither of them liked speaking in the ethereal, and they both loved the bow more than the sword, so they got along well. They exchanged many a hunting tale, March often boasting of his best friend’s prowess with the bow. Rikky’s worry over Zahrellion’s obvious attraction to the handsome young man was balanced by the way Marcherion looked back at her. Rikky knew the look. March saw a weird, unsettling, white-haired, tattoo-covered druida, not a well-formed young woman. Rikky could tell March wasn’t attracted, or even intrigued by her. It was a relief.

March told Rikky about Prominence Valley, Brendly Tuck, and the white-stag-riding elf
who’d
made him choose between his friend’s life and swearing to stand against the Confliction. Rikky told Marcherion about Gravelbone and the troll war that had just erased twenty years’ worth of his kingdom’s expansion progress. Zahrellion flew alongside them listening intently.

Zahrellion hung on every word Marcherion said, especially when they were on Fisherman’s Island, huddled around a real wood fire. There, March told them that there was a story in his homeland about some ships that set sail for a neighboring land and disappeared. He didn’t recall if one of them was called the Dogma, but he said the name sounded familiar.

They were just a short glide from Mainsted now, and March was obviously growing nervous. Zahrellion hadn’t wanted to land at Gull’s Reach, and Rikky agreed that the people there would be far too curious if three Dragoneers showed up. Knowing that they, and the dragons, could rest in Mainsted for a good long stretch made the decision that much easier.

“So how do I become a Royal Dragoneer?” Marcherion asked playfully. The sight of the metropolis that was Gull’s Reach was disturbing. So many chimneys spewing smoke, in a place with no open space. It was unimaginable to him.

“Jenka says that we aren’t really
Royal
Dragoneers,” Rikky explained over the rush of the wind. “He says that we serve something greater than the kingdom or even greater than man, and that we shouldn’t let anyone think otherwise.”

“That makes sense. I’m looking forward to meeting this Jenka of yours. Is he... uh...” March touched his forehead and traced designs on his cheeks because he couldn’t find the word he was after.

“He isn’t a druid, but Linux is.”

“You mean, the king at the moment?” March asked, trying to get it straight. “Yup,” Rikky grinned. The fact that Marcherion had paid attention to him made him feel somewhat important. He almost hadn’t told the new Dragoneer about the king’s dilemma, but explaining their need to risk their lives to retrieve moonlit serpent shit was easier after telling the whole of it.

Rikky was loyal to the kingdom, but he was loyal to the Dragoneers first. He had no doubt that Marcherion was one of them.

Blaze’s presence irritated Silva, though; Crystal too, from what Rikky could tell. Blaze was a fire drake and very masculine. He eyed the female dragons with an almost resentful glare, which was full of both lust and disdain at the same time. Rikky was hopeful that a pecking order would eventually work itself out.

Rikky, I’m going ahead,
Zahrellion said.
Will you see to getting Marcherion settled, while I find Mysterian and get her the mushrooms?

I will,
he answered her in the ethereal, but when he continued he spoke out loud. “We weren’t eager to greet the old witch anyway! We’ll see you in the Dragoneers’ Lair later, then.”

I’ll send word down to the bailey so Blaze won’t frighten them. If you see Jenka, tell him I need to speak with him.

I will.

***

Marcherion was amazed by the columns and carved marble falcon statues that decorated the building facing the large acreage of space that was set aside for the dragons. He was more impressed by the eager servants who attended them and the wyrms. Two men were pushing out a cart loaded with deer carcasses as they went in. There were private baths, and Rikky had a man go find clothes to replace the tatters both of them were wearing. March soaked in a steaming tub and then gorged on fruit and meat until he fell asleep at the plank table in the dragon bailey’s common room.

***

Rikky let his new friend rest and ate slowly, conferring with Silva, who seemed half dazed from sating herself. He wanted to make certain that Blaze wasn’t roasting men or frightening the people of Mainsted.

Silva told him that the huge red wyrm had eaten one of the deer himself then curled into a knot of slumber deeper than words could convey.
He’ll not wake soon,
she said.
He has been flying so very long.
Then she sent a strange sense of awareness to Rikky. It wasn’t quite
fear
, more a feeling of uncertainty, but it was substantial.
The Confliction draws nearer, Rikky. We all can feel it. Watch over each other while we rest. This you must do when we cannot.

Rikky could feel something, but doubted it had much to do with the stupid Confliction. He felt anxious to see Prince Richard well again. The future ruler of the realm had once saved him from trolls, and the dragon called Royal had carried him and a blind man over the wall to safety. That was all before Rikky had bonded with Silva.

“It’s time.” Zahrellion stepped in, looking quite shapely in a well-fitting pair of calfskin pants, high boots, and her Dragoneer emblem emblazoned vest. The lace-up shirt she wore beneath it was open slightly, revealing only a hint of her modest cleavage. Her hair was wet and well combed. For a moment Rikky saw what Jenka did. He saw the pure beauty of her, but he didn’t dwell on it. She was like his sister and his mind just wouldn’t register her as an attraction. He elbowed Marcherion awake and was smart enough to jump out of reach after doing so.

***

March’s reaching grab missed whatever had been disturbing his slumber. He reached out with his mind, to feel for Blaze, and found nothing. Alarm shot through him, bringing him fully awake. When he registered where he was waking, he found himself a little embarrassed. There was Zahrellion, the druida, looking as creepy as ever. Her ghost hair was stark, and her demon eyes seemed to bore straight through his skin. The way she ogled him made him feel like she wanted to feast on the flesh she saw.

Her voice was soft and sweet enough, though. “Mysterian has prepared the concoction. We should be there in case Prince Richard needs us. Queen Alvazina will need us if it doesn’t go well.”

“Will Linux and the king be there?” March asked.

“Herald is there,” she said. “His party is still waiting on Jenka to return from Kingsmen’s Keep to escort them north.”

“Oh, you’re gonna love Herald,” Rikky said, and then started in telling March about how Herald had part of his arse eaten by the same sort of goblins that ate his leg.

March was disappointed that he didn’t get to see much of the outside of Mainsted on the walk through the complex. He did admire the stone work and complex craftsmanship of many a thing he saw. One tapestry, depicting an island landing and a battle with trolls and dragons on the shore, intrigued him so much he decided he would try to find his way back to admire it more if time allowed. He was glad that Mainsted was surrounded by forests and wide open sea. If it was crowded like Gull’s Reach, he might have opted to land in the woods and rest there. When they entered the Dragoneers’ Lair, he found it more like a tavern hall than anything. Inside was total pandemonium. Immediately he was pressed against a wall by a guard who was backing away from something. March looked around the man and saw what had to be the Crown Prince waving around a long dagger. A woman, who was most likely the queen, was hanging in a fainted slump against another guard across the room, and the old wild-haired witch was cackling madly as she danced around trying to calm everyone down.

The druid, the man with the wood-colored triangle on his head, who March knew was really the king, was pleading with the crazed prince to stop what he was doing. Marcherion was amazed that he was able to grasp who everyone was. Rikky had described them all well.

“They have to die!” the prince yelled in a voice that was raspy with mucus. “What do you care about them, druid?” he responded to King Blanchard’s pleas. “Gravelbone did this to me, but the Sarax will finish us all!” With that, the prince shouldered the witch to the floor and dove on the huddled form of his father. He looked up at the guard, who should have stopped his advance, and spat a wad of frothy blood in his face. Then, before anyone could get hold of him, he started stabbing the king’s body over and over again with savage force and quickness.

Blood slung back over him and March watched in stupefied horror as the gore-drenched prince stood and spread his arms wide. “I am the king now,” he said with nothing less than malice in his jaundiced eyes. “Bow befo...”

He stopped cold then, his eyes rolling up as he fell to the floor not far from Marcherion’s feet. Where the prince had just been now stood the king, his tattooed druid face full of anguish for what he’d just done. It was he who’d buried the dagger in Prince Richard’s back. Maybe worse than stabbing his own son was the fact that his true body lay dying and full of holes on the floor. Most of the guards storming in didn’t know his true identity either.

“I’ll be a pixie’s pecker head,” Herald said as he wiped the sweat from his brow and looked nervously around the room. Without further hesitation he stepped in front of the real King Blanchard and shielded him.
 

Part IV

Clover