Dragonsbane (Book 3) (14 page)

They clamored out of the nettles and into the rocky land on the other side. Here, the air was much sharper; the pines grew tall. A steely gray sky leered above them, and Kael realized — with no small amount of shock — that they’d made it into the Unforgivable Mountains.

“We didn’t have to go through the Valley at all,” he said.

Kyleigh clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s generally what a better way does — it takes you where you need to be in less time and with less hassle.”

He didn’t think anything could’ve been more of a hassle than battling through that thorny crack, but he was too excited to argue.

Kael took deep breaths as they walked. He hadn’t realized how heavy the air in the lowlands had been until the mountain breeze slid easily into his chest. There wasn’t any sun to burn him, no dampness to settle into his clothes. The constant noise he’d had to endure for the past several seasons made the muffled voice of the spiny forest ring all the sweeter. The scent of pine filled the gaps between the trees. It settled in his nose and made his head feel lighter than the fumes of any pipe.

He’d been amazed by the power of the seas and the bounty of the plains, captivated by the leafy towers of the forest. He could find words to describe how he’d felt in every corner of the Kingdom. But there was no feeling quite like coming home.

“We’re here! Oh Fate, we’re finally here,” Baird said, shaking Kael’s rucksack excitedly. Then all at once, he went quiet. “Ah … where to now?”

Kyleigh gave him an amused look. “You didn’t have a plan?”

“No — goodness, no. A bard never plans. He prefers to take his journey one stride at a time, turning where the road bends. I’ve longed to come to the mountains for years. And now that I’m here,” his smile parted wide beneath his bandages, “I plan to enjoy myself.”

Kael knew that if they weren’t careful, their trip could wind up being rather
un-
enjoyable. “We should keep moving upwards.” He peeled Baird off his pack and attached him to Kyleigh’s. Then he chose a slope that didn’t have too many jagged rocks around it and started to climb. “Hold on a moment — let me get my bearings. It shouldn’t take too…”

He stopped. The slope in front of him had suddenly ended. It’d dropped away and flattened out, leaving something that looked like a dry riverbed dug into the mountain.

The bed was shallow, but wide enough for carts and horses. It cleft the slopes and crushed the rock. Everything in its path was either pressed down or shoved away — churning the wild earth aside like a footprint in the sand.

There was no end to it. The path cut back and forth across the mountains, climbing until it finally disappeared among the clouds. From a distance, it looked as if some great serpent had wrapped its coils around the jagged peaks — strangling with such force that it’d left a gaping scar behind.

Kael’s chest felt empty as he traced the jagged line that had been carved through the mountains’ face. The happy chattering of his companions struck him and washed down, like waves crashing against rock.

“Blazes …”

“What? What is it?” Baird slung his shaggy head about. “Is it bandits? Trolls?”

“It’s a road,” Kyleigh said as she stepped in beside Kael. “The rumors were true, then. Titus has conquered the mountains.”

Baird snorted. “Impossible. The mountains are the heart of the Wildlands — the one patch of Kingdom that still thrives in unblemished beauty. They’ve got their own spirit about them, the mountains. There’s a danger here that can’t be tamed. I shudder to think of how many souls haunt these peaks. There must be legions of glowing ghosts …”

Baird prattled on, but Kael couldn’t hear him. He was lost somewhere between wakefulness and sleep. He hoped that if he shut his eyes tightly, he would wake to realize it’d all been a dream … but he didn’t.

The relief he’d felt just moments before was gone, replaced by a pit so deep he couldn’t feel where it ended. He forced his legs to rise and fall even though he couldn’t feel them. He forced himself to walk the mountains’ scar.

How long would it be before towns sprouted up along this road? How long before the sharp sides were blasted out and its veins were gutted for metals? How long before merchants packed the mountains, gazing unknowingly upon sights meant only for the woodsman’s eyes?

The burning and the raiding had only marked the beginning of Titus’s war: the road would finish it.

Things bubbled inside Kael’s chest, growing and bursting with little blasts of flame. Titus had done this. Those toppled trees
, the boulders split into two and the steep slopes completely flattened out — they were the Earl’s footprints. His road had plowed through all the danger and the wonder of the mountains, leaving a scar in its place.

When they came around the next bend, the molten steel inside Kael’s chest suddenly hissed and went out. They’d come across the ruins of a village … and Titus’s road ran straight through the middle of it.

This village was smaller than Tinnark had been: no more than a handful of tiny houses perched upon the slopes. Their doorways were dark and empty — holes that gaped unseeing. The roofs were gone and the tops of the houses were completely open to the skies, burned black around the edges.

Heavy spring rains had filled the cracks that winter had left along their sagging walls. Now in the middle of summer, the houses were warped and wilted. They sagged against their beams, leaning with the weight of the brambles that had grown up along their skin. Their marrow burst with thick veins of mold.

Charred ruins lined the path; the door was gone from a small storehouse and all its contents pillaged. Kael’s tongue stuck to the back of his throat as he walked past one sunken ruin after the next. He was standing in the middle of the village when he came across a sight that stopped his heart.

A mass of skeletons lay in the road. Some were intact, but most had been torn apart by animals. One had an arrow hanging from the socket of its skull. Several were pinned to the ground by spears. A few were small … far too small.

Roland had always said that to try to carve any sort of life from the mountains was like the man who lived inside a pond: he could only survive for so long before he ran out of breath.

“It’s a waste of time to ask
if
a man will die in the mountains,” Roland had said. “You’d be better off asking
when
.”

Kael knew this. And had these villagers been left to live, the perils would’ve claimed them eventually. Death was just a part of life in the mountains. But this was different. This was … it was …

Sickness gripped him. Kael fell on his knees as his breakfast rushed up. Even after his stomach had nothing left, he choked and gagged.

Baird’s shuffling steps stopped beside him. His hand grasped until he found Kael’s face. His fingers marked his chin and then with the other hand, he pressed a canteen against his lips. “Careful, young man. The body always tries to purge that which it cannot stand. Ill winds, disease, infection … hmm, but this is different,” he murmured as Kael drank. “Unless I’m much mistaken, this is the plague of Vindicus.”

Kael had read the story of Vindicus the Broken more times than he could count, and there’d never once been any mention of a plague. When he said as much, Baird gripped his chin.

“Ah, there’s where you’re quite wrong. You think of scourge
and pestilence. I think of a far more fatal plague — a hate that burned so fiercely it consumed the man from within.”

Kael’s next drink of water went down slowly. 

He hadn’t thought about it before, but his story was a lot like that of Vindicus: both of their homes had been destroyed, both set out to avenge them. Vindicus had marched to the gates of his enemies alone. Legend said he’d fought for years without food or drink or sleep, hacking tirelessly through the flesh of his foes — letting the rage of the battle fuel him.

He fought for so many years on end that his hand melded to the hilt of his sword, and the blade became known as his Arm. Only after the last of his enemies fell was Vindicus defeated: without the battle’s rage, his body gave out — crumbling like dust until all that remained was his Arm.

That was where the story ended. It’d never said
why
Vindicus had crumbled and died. Kael had always assumed that his body had simply worn out. But now …

“
Hate
was the plague of Vindicus,” Baird said quietly. “He let it bubble, let it brew. And so his hatred grew — it filled his veins, filled his heart. Ah, but Hate is a hungry beast: he must always eat. He shrinks quickly with naught to devour, withers more with every hour. As his battle raged on, Vindicus became Hate. And so when the last of his enemies had fallen, he ceased to be. Now I hear the ominous rumblings of that wicked beast inside
your
chest, young man,” Baird said, thrusting a finger at him. “You must rise against it. You must never let Hate reach your heart.”

The molten iron inside Kael’s chest bubbled up in warning
as he stared at the bodies. It would be easier to let the fires consume him — to allow his rage to dry all the horrible little wet things that squirmed behind his eyes. Anger was a familiar face, a monster he understood. Yes, it would be easier to give in as Vindicus had.

But at the last moment, Kael rose against it.

Something strong crept from his middle and snuffed the fires out. It held him up, like hope had held the giants. He focused on it as Lysander had focused on the steely gray sky. This feeling was an armor he wore beneath his skin. And for now, it would keep the fires trapped.

Kael decided to bury the bodies in a circle, in the exact order he’d found them. He figured that if they’d chosen to die beside each other, then that was how they ought to sleep.

He dug the graves with his bare hands, willing his fingers through the unforgiving layers of rocky earth. His mind was so consumed with his task that he hardly noticed when stones crumbled beneath his hands.

Kyleigh lowered the bones into the graves and Baird arranged them the best he could. His knobby fingers traced surely down the cracks and rifts, memorizing their shapes. His lips moved wordlessly as he pieced them back together. Then at each grave, just before he covered them, he’d lay a stone beneath their feet.

“In case they come up one short,” he explained. “Our lives are all about balance — no one can be purely evil or good. Men who get sent to the river so suddenly don’t always have a chance to right their ways. But if they lived just decently enough, this’ll be the step that helps them cross.”

For some reason, his words gave Kael a strange feeling. His spirit cringed against a biting cold — a cold his heart seemed to recognize, but his body couldn’t remember.

They made their camp among the ruins that night. As Kael was drifting off to sleep, he thought he might’ve heard a soft whisper on the wind: a voiceless murmur, a wordless thanks …

The relieved sighs of the dead.

Chapter 13

A Stomp of Giants

Not long ago, Captain Lysander had been cramped at his desk in Gravy Bay, watching the days creep by through the window. Now his stormy eyes gazed upon a completely different view.

Thick trees and a long stretch of sandy beach dressed the land in front of him. Behind the ring of sand was a large gathering of houses. Merchants scurried all about them, hoisting their wares into the waiting lofts. Their voices rose and fell as the haggling grew heated.

Lysander paced down the length of
Anchorgloam
, hands clasped smartly behind his back. The ships anchored beside them bobbed and creaked beneath the waves, speaking to each other about their journeys. He arched his neck to glare at the sun. Then his chin turned south, to where a dark gray line was beginning to fester on the horizon. With a huff, he spun back to glare at the squabbling crowd.

“We should’ve done this weeks ago, Captain,” Morris called from the helm. “I knew that lad was up to something — I can always tell when he’s been scheming.”

“Good of you to keep it to yourself,” Lysander muttered. His stormy eyes flicked to the skies above the village.

“We should leave without them,” Nadine called from the bow. “Every moment we waste is one our friends might be in danger. It would be better to sail to them now than waste time waiting for the giants.”

“Believe me, lass — you don’t want to go charging up the mountains with anything
less
than a horde of giants. And even with all that, our innards could still wind up dressing the castle walls.” Morris’s eyes narrowed in their pouches. “Titus is a monster.” 

At Lysander’s order, a thick pair of boots had replaced Nadine’s customary sandals. Now her feet thudded clumsily as she marched towards the helm. “He will not take
my
insides. The mots have defended themselves against far more fearsome —” She tripped over her boots and nearly fell. Strange words flew from her mouth in a heated string as she kicked the nearest railing. “Why must I wear these?”

Lysander raised his brows. “They’re for your protection.”

“They are for your amusement,” Nadine countered with a glare.

He gripped his chest. “My dear lady — you wound me. I think only of the journey ahead. Where we’re going, your toes could very well freeze if they aren’t properly covered.”

“Aye, and then there’ll be nothing left to do but pop them off one at a time,” Morris added with a gap-toothed grin, “like barnacles.” 

“You are both liars! Toes do not — oof!”

She’d tried to stomp over to them but wound up tripping, instead. With another fiery string of words, she flopped to the ground. She tore at the laces and buckles for several moments before finally giving up.

“Better than any lock or key,” Lysander muttered as he passed by the helm.

“Aye, Captain,” Morris said with a wink.

The sun had slipped beyond noon when Jake finally called: “I see Eveningwing!”

Lysander had been glaring at the ever-widening gray line to the south. But at Jake’s cry, he spun around. Eveningwing screeched as he fluttered into the crow’s nest. A moment later, his head appeared over its top.

“They’re two miles from the village!” he said excitedly.

“How many are there?” Lysander called.

“Thirty-seven!”

“They’ve cheated us,” Morris growled. “Blast — I knew it! Never trust a giant. They always try to find some way out of their promises.”

“Once again, thank you for keeping it to yourself,” Lysander muttered. Then he spun to his men. “We’re going to have company aboard this vessel, dogs. Lower the ramp and make ready!”

The pirates flew to their work with a barking chorus of
ayes
.

It turned out that Eveningwing’s announcement hadn’t exactly been necessary. The noise of the village shrank back as a rhythmic thumping sound filled the air. The louder the thumping became, the quieter the merchants fell. Soon they’d stopped their bickering altogether and parted — stumbling back from the road to let a horde of towering men tromp through.

The giants’ thick chests were plated in armor and helmets capped their massive heads. The collective thumping of their steps drowned out all other sound.

“Eh, thirty-seven might just be enough,” Morris said.

Lysander slapped a hand to his forehead. “Oh, good Gravy. They’ve got the whole village staring at them. I told Declan to be
subtle
!”

Morris laughed. “I’m sure they’re doing their best, Captain. How
subtle could you expect a stomp of giants in broad daylight to be?”

The giants’ march slowed considerably when they reached the docks. Planks groaned and buckled beneath their weight, sagging in dangerous arcs. The giant at the front of the pack was quite a bit smaller than the rest — hardly any taller than a man. When the dock’s groaning reached a dangerous pitch, he hollered back:

“Step lightly now, you clodders.
Lightly
!”

The giants spent the next several moments painstakingly shuffling their way down the docks. With the merchants standing hushed on the shoreline, the shrilling of the wood filled the air at such a pitch that even the gulls stopped to listen.

By the time they reached
Anchorgloam
, Lysander’s hand covered his face completely. The pirates were trying desperately to muffle their laughter in their shirtsleeves. Morris chuckled through the gap in his teeth.

The smaller giant paused at the ramp. He lifted the visor of his helmet, but the cleft of his brow still shadowed his eyes. He wore a deadly, glinting scythe across his shoulder. His head turned from one end of the ship to the other before he said:

“Where’s Kael?”

“Thank you for coming all this way, Declan,” Lysander said carefully. “I’m sure Kael will be very happy to see —”

“Ahoy there, gents!” A lanky forest man slipped out from between the giants’ hulking bodies. His mouth bent in a wild grin as he waved up at the ship. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Lysander’s brows arched high into his waves. “Ah … I had no idea you were coming along, Jonathan. Though had I known, I might’ve reconsidered the whole thing,” he muttered through his grin.

Jonathan shrugged. “I’ve just come to make sure the ole army made it here safely. His Princeness wants me to report back to him as soon as you’re on your way.”

“I see. Is Brend not coming with us?”

“This is a task for his General,” Declan said firmly. After a moment, the line of his mouth became slightly less severe. “He’ll stay in the plains and tend to his people — and care for his new wife and daughter.”

Lysander grinned. “Darrah had a little girl, did she? How wonder —”

“Enough talking! Our friends are in danger. We should be sailing by now,” Nadine cried, thrusting her spear at the horizon.

“What friends?” Declan said.

Lysander shot Nadine a rather potent look. “I was getting to that —”

“Where’s Kael?
He called us here. Jonathan read the letter,” Declan said.

Lysander dragged a hand down his neck. “No, it wasn’t Kael who wrote to you — it was me. But I wrote on his
behalf
,” he added quickly, when the giants began to grumble. 

The sunlight cut across the steel in Declan’s eyes as he tilted his chin upwards. “I knew it.
This was one of your pirate tricks. Kael would’ve never made such a clodded mistake. We haven’t even had a chance to forge new suits of armor — we’ve had to make due with what we managed to scavenge from the bloodtraitors. And it’s not exactly fit for battling,” he added, pointing to the large, shining hole in the steel above his heart.

The giants grunted in agreement. Much
of their armor was either patched or badly dented.

“Winter always strikes the mountains first, and it’ll be striking before we know it,” Declan went on. “We’ll never have time to reach the top, fight a war and climb back down. The snow’ll bury us to our clodded necks. Save your breath, pirate. We’ll go to war when
Kael
calls us. That was the deal.”

At his signal, the giants turned to march away.

“Kael left for the mountains on his own.”

Thirty-seven pairs of steely gray eyes settled onto Jake. His gloved hands balled into fists at his side and he glared from over the top of his spectacles.

“Oh, he’s telling tales,” one of the giants said.

The cleft in Declan’s brow deepened as he frowned. “No … he’s telling the truth. Why would Kael go off on his own when he knew he had the strength of the plains at his back?”

“Because …” Jake cleared his throat. “Because he’s a stubborn mountain rat who would rather die than have to ask anybody else to fight for him.”

For a long moment, the giants did nothing but glare through the slits in their helmets. Then all at once, they burst out laughing.

“Yeh, that sounds about right,” Declan said.

Morris leaned against the helm. “So what do you say, lads? Are you going to help us or not?”

Declan shook his head. “The deal was to fight for Kael when he asked us to. He hasn’t asked, so I can’t order my men to fight. I won’t hold them to that.”

Nadine waved her spear in an arc. “Fine. Then let us set sail without them!”

Jake’s face crumpled. “How can you say that? Think of what he’s done for you — Kael freed your people! Doesn’t that mean anything?”

Declan shrugged. “Sorry, but those are the rules. My men can all turn around and go home.”

“Very well, then. I supposed if there’s no convincing you …” Lysander spun and clapped at the pirates. “Set sail, dogs! We leave at once.”

“Aye, Captain!”

Morris glared down at the crowd of giants and snorted through his wiry beard. “Great dirty lot of cowards. Aye, and I hope you can live with yourselves. Now get off of those docks before you snap them.”

“All right,” Declan said.

He broke from the crowd and marched directly up the ramp onto
Anchorgloam
. One by one, the giants followed him. They filed onto the lower deck and stood, watching with interest as the pirates raised the sails.

Jake’s chin nearly touched his chest. “But didn’t you just say …?”

Declan shrugged. “What would you have me do, wee mage? I can’t order them
not
to fight.”

Lysander, for his part, didn’t look the least bit surprised. “Welcome aboard, gentlemen. Follow Jake — he’ll help you get settled.”

“As long as they settle quickly. I have led armies of
women
who have spent less time chatting,” Nadine said.

Declan waved a hand at her. “We’ll be settled long before you’ve finished squawking about it, sandbeater.”

“I do not beat the sand!”

As the squabbling on deck continued without any signs of ending, Captain Lysander took his place behind the helm.
He raised his brows when he saw that Jonathan had materialized at his side.

“Ah, the fresh wind of adventure! Gets the ole heart pumping, doesn’t it?”

“Aren’t you supposed to report back to Brend?” Lysander said.

Jonathan nodded. “I am.”

“Then why are you still aboard my ship?”

“I’m not. I’m
strictly
not.”

When a long moment passed and Jonathan still hadn’t moved, Lysander crossed his arms.
“Clairy doesn’t want you taking off on her, does she?”

“There was some talk about cracking me over the head with my own fiddle,” he said with a nod. “I know it’d be nice to have someone like me in your party — a fellow with his footprints in all the familiar places, and possessive of a certain roguish charm,” he added with a wink. “But I’m sorry, mate. I can’t go with you. As much as I’d love to lend my skills, I’m afraid the duty to my woman comes absolutely first.”

Lysander sighed. “Well, that’s regrettable. We’ll certainly miss you. Raise the ramp and shove off, dogs!” he hollered behind him.

They were drifting out to sea, sails filled with the gusts from the storm brewing in the south and eyes set north when Lysander said: “There’s no avoiding it this time, fiddler. Clairy’s going to have your head.”

Jonathan’s lanky shoulders rose and fell. “Oh, I think she’ll come around — especially once she hears the whole story.”

Lysander nodded out at the waves. Seconds later, his smile had melted into a rather concerned look. “Wait a moment … what story? What are you going to tell her?”

Jonathan grinned. “That I was kidnapped by pirates, of course!”