Dragonsbane (Book 3) (22 page)

Kael felt as if he’d just been beaten over nothing. “So while she’s off running through the woods all day,
I
get to be the one in charge of keeping her people on task. Shouldn’t that be the Thane’s job?”

“It should be,” Kyleigh said, leaning around him to make a face at Silas.

Kael didn’t exactly feel like she was paying attention.

“You did good today,” Griffith said as he slid in across from them. “Honestly — two houses a day is a good pace for the craftsmen.”

“Well, we could’ve had the whole village done by now if they’d stop digging rounded windows into everything,” Kael muttered, rubbing the sore spot Gwen had left on his scalp.

The tables in the Hall formed something like a rectangle with a large, empty space in the middle. Gwen’s table sat at the back near the fire pit. The wall behind it was covered in the snarling heads of beasts. Her chair was adorned with designs that made it look as if it housed a dragon — with its high back carved into an image of the dragon’s head and the arms chiseled to look like a set of massive claws.

Though it was certainly a menacing beast, at second glance Kael wasn’t certain it
was
a dragon. The beast’s horns curled backwards instead of up, and it didn’t seem to have any wings. The designs on its torso made it look as if it had a chest full of hair. Perhaps it was supposed to be one of the
wynns
the wildmen kept talking about.

He was still trying to figure it out when Gwen stepped in front of the chair, blocking his view. The wildmen rose with their Thane and held their cups high. Kael scrambled to mirror them.

“Fate’s die has fallen in our favor once more, my wildmen,” Gwen declared, her voice ringing through the Hall. “We’ve lived to see another day. May we live to see many more.”

It wasn’t a celebration, and it certainly wasn’t one of Uncle Martin’s toasts. Kael hadn’t figured out what it was — he just knew it meant they would get to eat.

After they’d taken a drink from their cups, dinner began. The wildmen passed their plates around in a circle, each scooping a portion of whatever dish sat in front of him until every plate was full.

“What a glorious feast!” Baird cried. Then he began shoveling roast pig into his mouth with both hands.

“Have you figured out the caddocs?” Griffith said around a large chunk of boiled goose egg.

Kael thought he had.

The wildmen were thrilled to have a healer among them once again — not for the fact that it would make their lives any easier, but because it had given them the chance to revive the ancient tradition of
caddocs
.

From what he could gather, there were often ice storms at the summit. The storms raged so fiercely and for so many days that Thane Cadwalader had come up with a way to both entertain his people and keep his warriors sharp: fearsome skirmishes designed to push the battlers to their limits.

Kael had gotten an up-close look at the caddocs during his first dinner with the wildmen. He’d been deep into his food when the warrior sitting beside him had flung the icy contents of his cup directly into the face of the warrior across from him.

They’d then proceeded to stand in the middle of the Hall and beat each other with their fists — striking one blow each on the top of the head, back and forth until one of them finally lost consciousness. Kael had spent the rest of his dinner trying to flatten out the knots on their heads. But instead of learning from their bruises and easing back, the caddocs had only gotten worse.

The night before, a whole table of warriors had erupted into a fight. They smashed their benches into clubs and chased each other around, turning the Hall into their personal battlefield. The other warriors had cheered for their mates while the craftsmen beat their hands upon the tabletop in a charging rhythm.

Even Kyleigh had seemed to enjoy herself. She’d stood on their bench and hurled dishes into the fray — cheering each time she managed to smash a plate across a warrior’s head.

Kael, on the other hand, thought he could’ve done with a little less chaos at dinner. He and Baird had taken refuge beneath their table for most of the evening — and after the battle was finished, Kael had spent several hours more trying to paste the warriors back together.

Now he choked down his food as quickly as he could, watching out of the corner of his eye for trouble.

Griffith held up a finger. “What does the water represent?”

“Washing away ill will,” Kael said thickly. “It’s all in good fun.”

“Right. And why is it important to pay attention to the rules?”

“They’re different for every caddoc.”

Griffith smiled widely. “Very good. I think you’re ready.”

Kael nearly choked. “Ready for w —?”

An icy lash slapped across his skin. It washed over his face and slid in chilly lines down his neck. Kael blinked the water from his eyes and saw Griffith standing before him, an empty cup in his hand.

“What in Kingdom’s name was that for?” Kael gasped.

“You know very well what it was for. Now get out there,” Kyleigh said. She shoved him off the bench with her boot heel and Griffith dragged him into the middle of the room by his leg.

“It seems we have a caddoc,” Gwen said, eyeing them from her table.

Kael didn’t think it seemed like that at all. “He’s only a child!”

“Scared, mutt?” someone hollered.

Kael’s face burned as laughter filled the Hall.

“Why have you called this man to caddoc?” Gwen said.

“Because he’s a filthy mutt and I plan to slap his face off,” Griffith replied — with what Kael thought was an alarming amount of enthusiasm.

Gwen’s finger trailed a line down her jaw and across her bluish-black lips before resting, curled, beneath her chin. “That seems reasonable.”

The wildmen’s excited howls drowned out Kael’s protests.

Griffith spread his fingers wide. “Open-handed, and you have to keep your boots planted. If you move your feet, I get to punch you.” He smiled. “Last man standing wins.”

Kael couldn’t believe it. This was mad — even for the wildmen. “I’m not going to fight him. I’m not going to hit a child —”

A stinging pain cut his words short. The world hadn’t even come back into focus before Griffith slapped him again, jerking his head to the side.

“Keep those feet planted,” he warned. “I’d hate to have to punch you.”

Kael felt as if two enormous bees had stung his face. He hadn’t even realized Griffith could reach him. “I don’t want to — oomft!”

Griffith slapped him across the mouth. “Then you can stand there till you pass out. Makes me no difference.”

A blow across his ear made Kael realize that he had to do something. He caught Griffith by the wrist and tried to put him to sleep, but the boy twisted out of his grasp.

“No healer’s tricks!” he crowed, slapping him hard in the side of the head.

The skin across his jaw was beginning to swell horribly. Kael didn’t want to hurt Griffith, but it was also clear that the boy was never going to relent. Perhaps he could just tire him out.

He turned his skin to stone and waited. Griffith seemed to realize that he was up to something. His hands hovered out in front of him, bobbing like the heads of snakes. Kael didn’t even see him move: he just heard the hollow thud as Griffith’s palm struck his hardened skin.

The boy swore and wringed his hand out in front of him. Kael heard howls he recognized and knew the craftsmen were cheering for him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kyleigh leaning over Baird — no doubt telling him every detail of the fight.

Griffith flexed his hand, grimacing as he studied Kael’s face. “What was that?”

Gwen had her boots propped on the table and her arms resting upon the claws of her chair. “Do you withdraw your caddoc?”

Griffith shook his head.

“Then keep fighting. You’re beginning to bore me.”

Kael stood still as Griffith slapped him again. Once, twice, three times his hands struck Kael’s stoned flesh and bounced away. But the fourth blow was different.

The thudding sound was louder. It rattled his insides a bit — like the tremor of a giant’s steps. He felt a hairline crack begin to snake its way down his chin on the fifth blow, widening on the sixth and seventh.

Kael concentrated hard on fixing the cracks in the stone, but Griffith’s blows came faster than he could seal. They fell in a steady barrage, jarring his thoughts before he had a chance to collect them. The fissures widened as his concentration slipped. The slaps began to sting through the cracks in his armor.

Griffith’s eyes grew brighter; his blows grew stronger. A strange, twisting grin bent his mouth as he struck Kael again and again. It wasn’t exactly a cruel look …

But it wasn’t a merciful one, either.

At last, Kael could hold on no longer. His concentration slipped and the chipped edges of his stoned flesh cracked, falling away just as Griffith’s hand collided with his face.

One moment Kael was standing there, gritting his teeth against what he knew would be an ear-ringing slap to the jaw — and the next, he was sailing through the air.

A strange feeling coursed through his body as he landed, more shock than pain. The wildmen pounded their fists viciously against the tabletops. They whistled and howled.

Even Gwen seemed excited. She leaned forward in her chair, fists clenched on the table in front of her. Red bloomed behind the swirling lines of her paint as she cried: “The mutt has lost his footing. Finish him!” 

Her face disappeared, then — blotted out by the flesh-colored lumps of steel that collided with Kael’s face.

He threw up his arms, but Griffith knocked them aside. His fists pounded in a merciless beat. They slammed into Kael’s nose, cut his lip against his teeth, tested the hinges of his jaw — they rattled him so badly that his ears struggled to keep pace. The crazed thunder of the wildmen’s pounding faded back until all he could hear was the steady
thud
of Griffith’s fists.

The pain was too much. His mind couldn’t tell him how badly he ached because there were simply no words to describe it. Kael stopped fighting. He lay back and his hands fell limply to his sides.

One final blow sent him into the darkness.

Chapter 20

The Greatest Power

Kael woke to the warmth of a fire and the cool grace of the morning sky. The beams of the hospital’s roof were black lines against the gray dawn. The craftsmen had been working on rebuilding it since they first arrived. Though they’d set and sealed the walls, they hadn’t quite gotten around to finishing the roof. Perhaps he would do that today …

Provided he ever managed to get his face arranged back to the way it’d been before Griffith scrambled it.

“Good dawn to you, young man!”

Kael groaned as Baird stumbled over to him. He carried an earthen bowl filled with water. It sloshed out the sides as he walked, splattering onto the floor. By the time he made it over to Kael’s bed, the bowl was nearly empty.

“Did you hear the news? Kael the Wright claimed a mighty victory last night. Oh yes, just when he was doomed to perish, he called forth the fires and the wind — escaping the jaws of Death! Who is this man who tames the earth’s fury? To whom even flame must ans —? Oh, dear.”

He’d tried to set the bowl on the edge of Kael’s bed but missed fantastically. It struck the floor and cracked like an egg, spilling what was left of the water.

“What are you doing here?” Kael said as he eased himself onto his elbows.

Right now his bed was more like a table than anything: four legs with a flat space in the middle. He’d begun stitching a mattress from the skins of the animals he trapped, but hadn’t quite gotten around to finishing it. At least the bed’s frame kept him off the icy ground.

Baird smiled widely. “I’ve been hunting for a place to keep my treasures, and that room in the back has plenty of shelves.”

Kael groaned again.

He waited until Baird had shuffled away before he tried to sit up. His face sloshed forward as he dragged himself from bed. Swollen lumps covered nearly inch of him. They sat so heavily that when he leaned over, he swore they nearly fell through his skin.

Bile rose in his throat as his fingers traced the damage. His nose was off-center, his lip was split, and he thought his jaw might’ve come a little unhinged. But at least he still had all of his teeth. Kael remembered the sharp lines of his face. He knew exactly how it fit back together — he just hoped he could stay conscious through the healing.

There were a few moments when he had to stop and take a breath, but he eventually managed to get his features rearranged. The bruises faded beneath his fingers, his nose slid back into place, and his jaw was tightly hinged. Soon there was no trace of what Griffith had done to him.

Still, he didn’t think he would ever forget that beating.

No sooner was he finished than the door creaked open and Griffith ducked in. “I brought you some moss … Fate’s fingers.” He dropped the hairy bundle he’d been carrying and leaned to look at Kael’s face. “You can’t even tell.” He perched at the end of the bed, hands twisting in his lap. “I just wanted to stop by and say … uh …”

Kael watched as he wound the blue marble through his fingers. “Why do you do that?”

He waved a hand. “It helps me keep my thoughts in order. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry — not because I beat you, but because I beat you so
badly
.”

Kael thought that was about the worst apology he’d ever heard. But he nodded anyways. “It’s all right. No harm done.”

“Good. It’s just that when I know I’m winning, I get a little excited. Though I don’t have to tell
you
,” he said with a wink. “You know how it is — your blood bubbles in your ears, your chest swells up and you feel like you can topple the whole blasted mountain!”

Kael had never felt like that. Not once. The few times he’d managed to do anything remotely strong, it had been because he had to — because he’d had no other choice. He didn’t enjoy fighting and he certainly never remembered feeling as if he could topple a mountain.

In fact, he couldn’t remember a time when he’d known for certain he was going to win.

“Your muscles must be made of stone,” Griffith went on. “By the time I knocked you back, I felt like I really
had
toppled a mountain!” He slammed a fist into one of the bedposts — and the floor trembled in protest. “Oops. Gwen’s always yelling at me for wrecking things. She says the control will come in time, but I’m still a little raw. Sorry, again.” He slapped Kael on the knee and got to his feet.

“I’m just glad it’s all done with,” Kael said.

Griffith paused at the door. “Done with? Oh no, it isn’t done. Look — I know you were going easy on me because I’m not as strong as you, but Gwen wants to see what you’re made of. You’ve got to really beat me tonight. I’m not going to stop until you do,” he added cheerily. Then he whipped the door open and disappeared.

Oh, for mercy’s sake — Griffith thought he’d
let
him win. He had no idea that he’d truly beaten Kael to a nub. He didn’t care what Gwen thought of him: there was no way he was going through that torture again.

As if that thought had summoned her, Gwen came bursting through the door. The latch slammed against the wall and shook it dangerously. “On your feet, mutt. We’ve got work to do.”

“What sort of work?”

It was the wrong thing to say. Gwen jerked him up by the fleshy part of his arm and hurled him towards the door — throwing in a sharp kick to the rump for good measure. “We’re going on a hunt.”

“Well, then I’ll need my bow.”

Her fiery hair seemed to stand on end as she snarled: “I’ll tell you what you need, mutt. You need to shut your mouth — or I’ll clobber you so hard it’ll seal your lips together. Understood?”

She shoved him out the door before he could answer.

“Farewell, young man. Breathe the air and feast upon the flowers’ bloom!” Baird called from the office.

Kael had no intention of doing that. In the mountains, any flower that wasn’t poisonous was thick with thorns.

He’d made to follow Gwen up the hill when he glanced back and saw something rather alarming: a trail of smoke rose from the middle of the village. When he looked closer, he saw that the Hall’s roof was gone. The shingles lay scattered and the beams curled upwards like the ribs of a carcass, charred on their tips.

Kael’s heart stuttered inside his chest. He tried to sprint towards it, but a thrust of Gwen’s boot sent him to the ground. “It’s nothing. The craftsmen’ll have it fixed before supper.”

“What hap —?”

“It’s
nothing
.” Each word was a warning of its own — a promise carved into the flint of her eyes. “Now shut your mouth and follow me.”

They traveled deep into the woods, jogging until the noise of Tinnark had faded and they were surrounded by the voices of the wilds. Then quite suddenly, Gwen stopped.

She sat cross-legged upon the rocky ground and Kael sat before her, wary. He’d learned the hard way never to relax around Gwen: the moment he thought he was safe, he’d usually get a slap across the ears.

“Griffith’s been hanging off my jerkin for days now, begging me to teach you to fight like a wildman. He’s convinced that you’re something special. But we know the truth, don’t we?” she said with a smirk. “You’re too far gone.”

Kael sank back. He’d been thinking a lot about what the craftsmen had told him — about how the whisperers of Midlan had filled themselves with knowledge until their doubt had crippled them. The wildmen didn’t seem to know much about anything. Just the other day, one of the craftsmen had asked him how he’d managed to tame the
little wooden birds
he carried across his back. And yet … they were capable of extraordinary feats.

The wildmen worked tirelessly, fought fearlessly, rode monstrous trees to the ground — it was like they’d never learned to doubt. Being a wildman meant leaping without looking … and in the time he’d been among them, Kael had begun to realize that he’d spent his whole life looking without leaping.

He wasn’t sure if he would ever find that sort of reckless strength. But he was determined to try. “I’m not too far gone. I can learn. I
want
to learn.”

Gwen didn’t reply. Instead, she drew a wooden triangle from her pocket and set it upon the ground. There were no designs carved into its surface, no words or explanation. The triangle stood on its base between them, pointing at the treetops.

“Do you know why the triangle is in the symbol of the Wright? Because it represents balance — the need to think with three different minds. But no matter how balanced you are, one side is always greater.” Gwen waved a hand at the carving. “Which is it?”

Kael’s first thought was that all the sides were equal. They were all the same length, after all. But if that was the case, why hadn’t Gwen laid it flat? Why did she have it sitting up?

“This one,” he said finally, pointing to the base.

“And why’s that?”

“Because it’s the side that holds the others up.”

She snorted. “A typical craftsman’s answer — always trying to find some deep meaning behind every little thing. That’s your problem, mutt: you can’t just ball your fists and crack a boulder in half. You have to have a
reason
to. Weakness,” she grunted. “A healer would’ve told you all the sides were equal, and a warrior would’ve said that this here,” she touched the tip that pointed skyward, “was the only place worth reaching.”

Kael hadn’t even thought of the point. “I’m not much of a warrior.”

“There’s war in your blood, mutt. You may have a craftsman’s mind, but you’ve also got a warrior’s eye and a healer’s heart.”

Though he hated to admit it, what Gwen said made sense. There were times when Kael thought he might’ve felt a bit like a healer — especially when he mind-walked. A couple of times, he’d dived past the memories and stumbled into something deeper. He’d burned with Declan’s rage and cried Kyleigh’s tears.

Yes, the healer he could believe.

But he was less certain about the warrior.

“A bird may be born with wings, but that doesn’t mean it hatches knowing how to fly. What you need is a swift kick from the nest,” Gwen said with a grin that made his toes curl. “There’s no thinking involved in war. It’s all about what you see. Haven’t you ever done anything without thinking?”

He certainly had — more times than he cared to remember. He’d held the sails down during the rage of the tempest, fallen through fire to gouge the heart of the Witch. A numbness had covered him after he’d murdered Bloodfang. He’d felt as if he watched through a cloud as Duke Reginald’s guards fell under his knives and arrows.

But that had been long ago, long before the reign of the black beast. His battle with Holthan was the last time he remembered doing anything without thinking. He had no idea how he’d managed to kick the sword so high, or how it’d wound up falling just right … but he could still hear the wet crunch of the blade cutting through Holthan’s chest.

Now that he thought back, he wasn’t certain that it’d been strength at all. It had probably only been luck.

“I can’t fight like I used to,” he admitted. “Somewhere along the way, I’m not sure when, everything became more difficult. The world’s not as simple as it used to be. I’m not sure I could ever fight without thinking.”

Gwen snorted. “Then you might as well get used to cooking and chopping up trees, because that’s all you’ll be good for. A Wright who doesn’t know how to war is about as useful as a bird without wings.”

She got to her feet and had started to clomp away when a swell of something pushed Kael forward. “Wait — I want to try.”

“I’m not sure you’re worth it. But if you insist …” She thrust a finger over his shoulder. “Go snap that in half.”

A tree hung over the path behind him — the skeleton of a giant that’d been toppled by a storm long ago. It was wedged against the limbs of a neighboring tree, forming a bar that hung at about shoulder height.

Kael pressed his palms against it, testing it, but the tree didn’t budge. He rammed his hands into it like Griffith had done. Once, twice, three times he struck. He’d expected something amazing to happen on the fourth blow, but it didn’t. Even by the seventh, the tree still hadn’t budged an inch.

He was beginning to get frustrated. “Why don’t I just turn my arms into blades and hack through? What’s the point of —?”

He had to duck suddenly to avoid getting his head knocked off. A rock thudded into the toppled tree, burying itself an inch into the bark. Gwen casually reached for another.

“A craftsman’s power ends at his fingertips. If he can’t touch it, he can’t change it. War is different from craft.” She turned the stone over, studying its jagged edge. “War is the ability to walk the earth with force — to send tremors that topple your enemies.” Her arm cocked back. “Now try it again, or I swear by Fate’s tattered robes that I’ll put a fresh hole between your eyes.”

There was no point in huffing and stomping his feet. Arguing with Gwen wouldn’t get him anywhere. He knew he had strength inside him. He’d used it before. The problem was that the only times he’d
meant
to use it, it had been for simple things.