Dragonsbane (Book 3) (12 page)

“I can’t believe you, I really can’t — I told you we wanted nothing to do with this!” Kyleigh shouted at the wolf.

His lip peeled back over his fangs in what could’ve only been a sheepish grin, and Kael suddenly understood: Graymange had told them to return to the road knowing full well that the Earl’s men were marching through. He’d used them to take care of the soldiers so that the shamans could have a clear shot at Blackbeak.

Kael wasn’t sorry for it. He would’ve killed those soldiers, anyways. “You’re just cross because he outsmarted you.”

Kyleigh’s eyes blazed as they locked onto his. “Am I? You have no idea what you’ve done.”

He thought she might’ve been overreacting a bit. So what if they’d killed a load of the Earl’s men? They already had at least two rulers chasing after them. What was one more?

He spotted Baird lying a few yards away. He was curled upon the ground, his arms wrapped tightly about his middle. Kael jogged over to him. “It’s all right,” he said as he turned the beggar-bard over. “The monster’s gone and all the soldiers are dead. There’s no reason to …”

“Baird!” Kyleigh fell on her knees beside him and pulled his hands away. Her face fell when she saw the dark red mass that stained his middle.

Blackbeak’s talons had left a deep gash in Baird’s stomach. His flesh was cut as raggedly as his bandages, now — peeled away from his middle in angry strips, their edges soaked scarlet.

“It seems … it seems my time has come. My yarn is at its end,” Baird said with a smile that made his lips shake. “All is as Fate wills it. Ah! Just promise me,” his bloodied fingers wrapped tightly around Kael’s arm, “promise you’ll take good care of my possessions. It’s time. Yes — it’s time.” Then he laid back and shut his eyes.

Kael knew he wouldn’t pass immediately. Gut wounds were a slow, painful way to die. Some of Amos’s patients had suffered for hours before they finally let go. He’d given them what they needed to sleep, but insisted he could do no more.

“Busted limbs are one thing. But a deep wound is quite another,” Amos had always said. “When a man takes a fatal wound, he knows it. He expects to die. And if I bring him back from the dead, he’ll know what I am.” He’d glared as he added: “We live in a hard time, boy. Letting one man die might mean I’ll live to save a hundred others.”

Now, as Kael stared down at Baird, he heard those words again. He knew it would be safer to do what Amos had done — to let Baird pass on and keep his secret to himself. It would be the easier thing, the wiser thing.

But he wasn’t certain it would be the right thing.

He grabbed onto Baird’s knobby wrist and let the smooth calm of sleep flow through his memories. He focused on the feeling of peace, the warm embrace of the darkness and the easy passing of dreams. Slowly, Baird’s lips stopped their trembling and the harsh lines around his face went smooth as he fell asleep.

“He was wise, this human,” Graymange said from behind them. He crouched, his eyes on Baird. “
All is as Fate wills it
. May he pass on peacefully — his death was meant to be.”

Meant to be
.

Those words ground with such force against Kael’s ears that he knew he could never do what Amos had done. He could never sit with his hands twined in his lap and let Fate have her way — not when he had the power to stop her.

Baird might’ve been a strange man. He might’ve been a little crazed. He might very well have been a spy or an agent of the Countess, for all Kael knew. But against everything — against all sense and every ounce of his reason — he …
liked
Baird.

Now that the beggar-bard’s voice had gone silent, he realized what a relief his prattling had been. What would Kael do if he didn’t have to turn around every five steps and tell Baird to quit whistling at the birds? What would he worry over if he no longer had to worry that Baird would trip over a rock, or run headlong into a tree?

He knew exactly the sort of things his mind would dwell on. He knew the darkness that would fill his days. And as completely mad as it sounded, he
needed
Baird … in fact, he wasn’t sure if he could make it up the mountains without him.

“Your powers are great, Marked One,” Graymange growled as Kael placed his hands on Baird’s wounds. “But you should never change the will of Fate just because you can. One day you will have to answer for your meddling.”

Kael wasn’t afraid. He took a deep breath and prepared himself to concentrate. “I don’t care what Fate wills. Baird will live today because
I
mean him to.”

After that, the world slipped back.

Everything he’d read on anatomy came rushing to the front of his mind. He worked on the slippery surface of organs first. Then his fingers wrestled with sinewy cords of muscle: binding them and pulling them tightly until they hung in place. If he ever got stuck, he would wait — and the image or passage he needed would appear before his eyes.

As he pinched the last bit of skin together, he came out of his trance. The words and images still hovered like reflections across his eyes. He had to blink several times to clear them. But when they finally passed, he saw Baird was mended. The patch of skin that showed through his rags was stained red, but healed.

“Well done,” Kyleigh said. She sat cross-legged before him, staring blankly at Baird’s gut.

Kael winced as his trance faded and the ache of his wounds crept in. “Is Graymange angry with me?”

“Probably,” Kyleigh said with a shrug.

“Where’d he go?”

She nodded behind her. “To deal with the newborns. Now that we’ve taken care of those soldiers, they’ll have no problem getting rid of them.”

He didn’t like the edge in her voice, and he liked the look on her face even less. He turned where she glared and saw three people had gathered around the cart.

Graymange stood in the middle, flanked by a man on one side and a woman on the other. The man was thick-limbed and had long, black hairs growing out of his back. The talisman around his neck bore the image of a charging bear.

The woman on Graymange’s other side wore nothing more than two strips of hide: one around her waist, and the other around her chest. Kael couldn’t see what was on her talisman, but judging by the red feathers that hung off the hooks in her ears, he assumed she must’ve been the hawk shaman.

The three shamans stared at the people inside the cages. Some cowered away from their gazes while others reached out, begging to be set free.

“Now you see what Blackbeak has done to our world, brothers. You see how he’s spat upon our order. His evil must be laid to rest.” Graymange lifted the talisman from his chest, and the other shamans mirrored him. “Let us purge this Abomination.”

Light blossomed from their talismans, and Kael knew what was about to happen. “Wait — stop!” He leapt to his feet and charged blindly for the cart, throwing an arm over his face to shield his eyes from the light. He didn’t stop running until he’d smacked into the cart’s side.

A few of the caged people grasped his shirt, pleading with him. A young woman sobbed in his ear. They moaned as if they spoke with their last breaths:

“Please …”

“Don’t hurt us —”

“Mercy!”

All he could hear were the cries of the Tinnarkians. He’d tried so desperately to bury that horrible night away that his memories were badly faded. Darkness covered many of the images. But though he could no longer see the flames, he could still hear the screams.

They were burned to the walls of his ears — a single plea from the Earl’s captives would’ve been enough to stir them to life. Now so many cries raked against the walls that the memories had been stoked to a roar. His shoulders stiffened as he turned to face the shamans; his fists clenched tight.

Kael hadn’t been able to save his village, but he could save the caged people. “I won’t let you kill them.”

“You’ve done enough, Marked One,” the bear shaman thundered. Though they stood only a few paces apart, he spoke at a yell. “These creatures are our responsibility. We must purge the land of their Abominable spirits.”

Kael pointed to the golden collars around the people’s necks. “They didn’t mean for this to happen, they didn’t ask for it. They’re being held captive by a spell.”

The hawk shaman’s pupils sharpened to points. “These Abominations were never meant to exist. They weren’t born of Fate. They were created by men — born to destroy.”

“If we let them go, they would belong nowhere,” Graymange said. “They would have no pack to guide them, no alpha to rein them in. You’ve seen for yourself what happens when Abomination takes hold. You’ve seen how they devour all in their path. They’d terrorize the realms of both beast and men.”

Kael tried to keep his voice even. “This is different. The curse hasn’t taken these people yet — they still have a chance. I know men who’ve been trapped under this spell. I’ve seen how it twists them … but I’ve also seen what they become once they’re set free. You could be sentencing good men to death.”

“They’re Abominations!” the bear shaman thundered.

“They deserve a chance!” Kael said back.

The hawk shaman glared. “It’s not your place to decide. Fate has set her rules. And we must follow them.”

The shamans weren’t going to budge. They watched calmly while Kael’s fists trembled at his sides. He knew what he had to do. A small voice in the back of his head moaned that he was charging straight to his death, but he didn’t listen.

When he spoke again, his words were white-hot: “I was born on the day of the first snow — the day when Fate turns her face from the Kingdom and allows Death to rule. Fate couldn’t see me the day I was born, and she can’t see me now. I was never meant to exist. According to your rules,
I
am an Abomination. So if you’re going to kill them,” he pounded a fist into his chest, “then you’re going to have to kill me as well.”

The shamans didn’t move. They stared at Kael for a long, inscrutable moment, and he stared back.

At last, Graymange spoke: “One of Fate’s forsaken … and yet, you bear her mark. What a strange child you are, Kael of the mountains — both chosen and forgotten, deserving of both life and death. How will the shamans answer you?”

Kael didn’t know how they would answer. As far as he could tell, none of their faces so much as twitched. He was beginning to get worried when Graymange sighed.

“Very well, the shamans are in agreement. You will be spared — and these creatures will be given a chance.”

Kael was so surprised that it took a moment for the words to sink it. “You’re going to let me free them?”

Graymange nodded. “And we’re going to help you. We’ve been given a rare gift today — a chance to step off the path. If Fate can’t see you,” he added with a growl, “it means she can’t see us, either.”

Chapter 11

A Greater Prize

Titus sat alone in his throne room. Wind howled across the narrow windows above him. They drew the gusts in through their slits and strained them — made them gasp and plea. They rose to a high-pitched wail before quieting, fading like the screams of a man hurled from a cliff.

The throne Titus sat upon was carved from a solid piece of stone. Even with the thick furs draped across it, he could still feel the cold. But that was of little concern to him. His mind was on more important things.

He touched the golden collar wrapped around his throat, watching as visions of lands and beasts flashed behind his eyes. When he’d found those savages hiding at the mountain’s top, he’d hardly been able to grasp it. He thought the dragonslayers of old were a myth. But the moment he saw their golden weapons, he knew he’d stumbled upon an ancient treasure:

Dragonsbane.

The golden metal was an eternal spell, capable of being melted down and re-forged to serve any purpose. It was magic the common man could wield. But most importantly, it gave Titus complete control over his army of beasts.

Crevan was forced to rely on his mages. He had to trust someone else to keep watch over his monsters. But with the dragonsbane around his neck, Titus could join them. He could walk among them. He could watch through their eyes. The things they saw moved behind his lids when he closed them. He could hear their voices murmuring in the depths of his head.

At first, it’d startled him. It was strange to be able to see through so many eyes, to hear so many different voices speaking all at once. But the power he’d gained had made it worth the visions, and worth the many sleepless nights he’d spent sifting through them. Never before had he been able to command his army with a thought, an utterance. Now they were truly pieces on a board — unspoiled by cowardice, not limited to their own feeble wit. They were his pawns.

And Titus moved them at will.

Four of his hounds had perished in the night. When Titus woke, it was only to find that their windows had vanished. One of his beasts circled the smoldering remains of the camp he’d sent into the Grandforest — the camp that’d been responsible for supplying his army with firebombs.

His stores had been burned up … and his soldiers devoured in the flames. It was an act too clever for the bandits, a message wrought too furiously to have been a coincidence. Titus had known from the moment he saw their blackened corpses that he was being offered a warning. 

Now as he watched through the eyes of his newest collection of beasts, he saw a gathering of half-naked barbarians standing before him. Their arms were crossed and their eyes locked onto the slim body of a boy.

Titus watched the scene as if he looked through a many-faced jewel: he saw the same picture presented in dozens of different angles. A pair of enormous hands appeared in one of the windows, and he focused on it.

I hope you know what you’re doing
, a thunderous voice bellowed.

The world spun and a young man’s face filled his vision. He had reddish brown hair and wore the rough clothes of peasants. His mouth sat in a firm line; his features were sharp and distinct, as if they’d been chiseled from the mountainside. But it was the brows that caught Titus’s attention.

The way they bent down over those eyes — eyes with an edge every bit as sharp as his face …

He knew it. He’d known it all along. Crevan had been so intent on claiming the throne that he hadn’t been able to see it. He’d been so confident in his little scheme that he’d thought the Wright had truly fallen into his trap.

But Titus had known better.

The young man’s eyes stayed on his for a moment before they shifted to someone in front of him.
Try to keep its claws pinned back. I’d really rather not have my face split open.

His hands reached out, his eyes brightened as he focused. Then like a lid slammed shut over an eye, the image went black.

Cold air ached his teeth as Titus grinned. “Attack,” he whispered.

These new beasts weren’t used to Titus’s voice. He’d taken a risk by sending his slaves to the Braided Tree — a risk he was certain would yield a near-limitless supply of beasts. But the slaves weren’t as obedient as his wolves. They needed to be … broken.

They didn’t want to attack the young man: they were afraid of him. But Titus wouldn’t be ignored. He’d learned early on that in order to control his beasts, his voice had to be the loudest — his will had to be the strongest. He had to grip their reins tightly, to rule as
alpha
over his army.

“Attack,” he said again, this time louder than before.

Madness weakened these newest beasts. They were tossed back and forth between their human and animal selves like wreckage in the seas. After awhile, they began to grasp Titus’s command. They clung to the force of his will to keep from being dashed among the waves.

“
Attack!
”

They raked the young man’s face with their claws and gouged his fingers with their teeth. He swore like a pirate each time he bled, but he didn’t stop. One by one, the windows of Titus’s beasts went dark as the young man freed them. The last things Titus saw before the vision dimmed were those eyes.

They held him suspended over a vat, threatening with their calm. Titus had looked into the eyes of many men over his lifetime. Mostly he saw fear; sometimes there was hatred. Their gazes were always either above him or below — either glaring down in rage or pleading upwards. Only a few, a very few, had ever managed to meet them.

When he looked into the eyes of that mountain rat, he saw his own soul reflected back. There was a rare brand of fight in this boy, one he hadn’t seen in many years. Titus was going to enjoy this challenge immensely.

He opened his eyes. All of the little windows faded back and the frozen walls of his throne room rushed to fill his vision. A creature sat before him: a man and a falcon twisted into one. Only a small portion of Titus’s army had taken the shape of birds — which was rather disappointing, as he’d found his little falcons to be especially useful.

They weren’t built for battle. The falcons were only about half the size of humans, but they were fast, quick-witted, and nearly impossible to hit. Their sight was sharp and focused. He’d gazed through their eyes as they’d circled the walls of Midlan, itself — watching from behind a veil of clouds.

“What is it, Earlship?” the falcon screeched. Its small voice struck the walls sharply. Black eyes consumed a large portion of its face — its warped beak-nose took up the rest. “Kill? Spy?”

For a moment, Titus hesitated. His patience had served him well thus far. He’d spent years convincing Crevan to give him the mountains, months slowly changing his army. Now his forces were more beast than man and Midlan had begun to crumble. If he did nothing more, Crevan would fall on his own … and Titus’s patience would earn him the crown.

But now there was a greater prize at stake — something only the death of this mountain rat could earn him. Titus knew he would have to move quickly to claim it.

“Tell D’Mere that I’ve changed my mind.
I’ll do as she asks … but I expect a vial of her poison in payment. She’ll know which one I mean.” Titus pulled the golden medallion from around his neck — the one with the Earl’s symbol engraved onto its surface — and held it lightly. “Wait in the forest for as long as it takes her to prepare it, and don’t answer any questions.”

He tossed the medallion onto the floor, where the little
falcon scooped it up with its clawed feet. “Yes, Earlship!” It shot away, squeezing itself through a narrow window and out into the cold.

Titus knew he’d done a dangerous thing, aligning himself with Countess D’Mere. She watched the shifting of the Kingdom’s pawns a few moves ahead, as Titus did. They’d both seen the day when Crevan’s pitiful campaign against the Dragongirl would consume him. They’d known his failures would drive him mad — and known that his madness would leave him vulnerable.

Now the hour of change was fast approaching, and each had something the other needed: D’Mere had given him the use of her shaman — and in exchange, Titus would spare her people from the coming storm. She’d promised him even more. She’d been willing to offer practically anything … all he had to do was hand over his medallion.

Titus frowned. He knew D’Mere planned to use him as bait. She would goad the King into charging up the mountains, where she no doubt hoped that either the bloodshed or the howling winter would eventually claim them both. Then the path to Midlan would be opened to her.

Yes, he was certain her next moves would carry her close to the throne. But she would fail.

Titus’s thumb dragged through the tangles of his beard. He broke into a grin as he tried to imagine the look on D’Mere’s face when she realized that she’d been fooled.

She’d only let him use the shaman because she believed it would mean his beasts would be tied to his mages, and that their bonds could be easily broken by death. She didn’t know about the dragonsbane. She didn’t know that his army would answer only to him, that he could witness everything they saw — that not even death could sever their chains.

But he was very much looking forward to the moment when she would discover it.

Titus’s grin twisted into a snarl. No, not even
that
thought could please him. A few hours ago, he’d been content with the idea of becoming King … but this mountain rat had tainted his victory. Now the throne of Midlan felt like a hollow prize.

There were greater spoils to be claimed. Fate had given him the rare chance to right a monstrous wrong — to have his defeat boiled down and recast into a scepter worthy of a King. He would’ve been a fool to turn such a gift aside.

Titus closed his eyes again, searching until he came to a window that sat high above the green mesh ceiling of the Grandforest. Clouds reddened by the light of the evening whipped past his eyes, smearing the sky with their blood.

“I need to you watch someone for me,” Titus said. He drew up an image of the boy’s face and passed it on. “Don’t attack — only watch. Keep your eyes on him and wait for my command.”

The clouds tilted on their side as the falcon changed direction.

Titus opened his eyes. His hands curled around the throne’s jagged arms and his mouth broke into a wolfish grin. His voice bounced off the icy walls as he growled:

“You can’t protect him any longer. This one is
mine
.”