Fist of the Furor (14 page)

Chapter 18

There is no glamour in war. As a child, I always pictured going off to battle as a brilliant moment filled with blasting trumpets, billowing flags, and waving handkerchiefs. People would be cheering from the streets. Children would lean too far out of second story windows, their parents holding them by the scruff of their necks. There would be barely restrained excitement.

Fantasies lie.

In reality, war was clanging armor in a too crowded courtyard filled with sobbing families. It was a crisp morning with whinnying horses and breaths misting on the air. People blew into their hands, dancing from foot to foot. There was nervous chatter and covert glares. Many Sadeemians didn’t approve of the war.

Hooves pounded cobblestone as the Serenity Bell clanged in the distance. Prince Cadeyrn marched into the yard in black leather breeches and a white open tunic, his sword unsheathed. His guards surrounded him. A horse stood waiting, and he mounted it, mist curling from the animal’s nose as it pranced, its eyes wide.

The prince’s ever vigilant gaze scanned the area, and I knew he looked for assassins.

“There is no danger,”
the trees promised me.

Cadeyrn’s presence quieted the crowd, his commanding countenance motivation enough for his men. Final, teary farewells were made amid shouted commands. Warriors mounted their horses while soldiers on foot lined the street, holding formation despite the clinging crowd. All of them wore armor with falcon-emblazoned blue surcoats. The rebels were the only exception. We wore plain brown breeches and tunics the color of the forest. Sadeemians sneered at us, a few of them spitting when they thought they weren’t being seen.

Prince Cadeyrn pulled his horse around. The beautiful white stallion circled us, cutting off the scornful crowd. The steed’s moist breath ruffled my hair.

“The prince regards you highly,” the horse revealed, “but what a strange creature you are.”

I stared, but said nothing.

Prince Cadeyrn glanced down at me. “He speaks to you,” the prince said.

The imperceptible nod I gave him was enough. The crowd already scorned us. We didn’t need my powers revealed to the mob. Rumors flew fast in villages. Any odd behavior could cause a riot.

Commotion at the palace’s entrance signaled Princess Catriona’s appearance. Gryphon stood just beyond, his painted charger dancing in front of a small group of guards. I spotted Madden among them. Ryon remained with Cadeyrn.

A sleek brown mare waited for the princess. She was a regal mount with a shining mane that tossed in the wind.

Catriona glanced at us and grinned. “Her name is Deity.”

Cadeyrn grunted. “Let’s hope she’s blessed by the gods.”

Lochlen shifted impatiently, his brown hood pulled up to hide his reptilian eyes. Oran pushed against my legs.

 
We were to march toward the sea. Ships waited to transport troops to Rolleen. From there, we’d enter the Ardus on a trek to Medeisia. It would not be a covert journey.
 

The prince shouted, and his men marched forward. We followed in their wake, the sound of thrumming feet against stone loud, the wailing cries of loved ones haunting, and the clanging sound of the Serenity Bell poignant.

I glanced at the temple’s spired roof as we marched, my gaze playing over the bronze bell. The sunlight caught the edge of the metal, causing it to glow. In its glare, I found myself peering at a pair of huge light blue eyes. I blinked and it was gone.

“Seeing ghosts?” Lochlen whispered next to me.

My gaze remained on the Serenity chapel. The
thud, thud, thud
of marching boots vibrated through the soles of my feet and traveled up through my chest, adding to the erratic beat of my heart.

The sun moved as we marched, the glare around the bell dimming, and I caught a glimpse of a man in a blue robe standing within the tower. He had a grey beard that disappeared into the folds of his cloak. He didn’t wave; he simply stared. Mothelamew.

“Good riddance, Sadeemia,” Oran grumbled at my feet.

We turned a corner, our feet taking us over a bridge and past domed buildings. Whitewashed houses loomed before us, drying laundry waving at us from lines pulled across open windows. Shadows moved behind curtains, the figures of villagers who’d chosen not to brave the cold, but there was no rejoicing.

Catriona’s mare approached us. “Looking forward to returning home?” the princess asked.

Daegan replied with an unmistakable, “Aye!”

Maeve glanced wistfully behind us. “I would have liked to study at the mage school, I think, but I do look forward to returning to the forests.”

Catriona’s gaze followed Maeve’s. “Maybe you can return one day,” the princess suggested.

There was no reply. None of us anticipated returning. The Ardus was too brutal, the trip too grueling, the war ahead too uncertain. Unlike Maeve, I had no interest in the mage school. The scribe school in the city of Quills was a different story. I’d have liked to see it, to mingle with the brown cloaked scholars. I wanted to smell leather and ink, and inhale the unmistakable sharp odor of old parchment.

“And you, Drastona?” Catriona asked. “Would you like to return?”

Cadeyrn’s horse slowed, the giant stallion’s hooves plodding gently against the stone. Gryphon’s charger did the same. My brother’s gaze found my face, but Cadeyrn kept his eyes forward.

My answer hurt me more than it hurt them. “Sadeemia is a beautiful country,” I replied softly, “but …”

“It isn’t home,” Daegan finished.

The bowman’s hand found my shoulder, and he squeezed. Sometimes I wondered if
Daegan
felt as much of a connection to the trees as I did. He had a teasing, nonchalant nature, but I’d seen him climb a tree, his bow lifted. He was as much a swordsman as a bowman. He could use both weapons efficiently, but there had been something about his eyes when we’d been in the trees in Medeisia, each of us stringing arrows to shoot at the enemy.

My gaze found Daegan’s face. He grinned. “There is too much sand in this kingdom. I loathe sand.”

It was then I remembered Daegan’s power was connected to soil and art, that Brennus had once said Daegan had strange dreams and drew images in the dirt.

My lips twitched. “Too much sand,” I agreed. His hand fell away from me, but I clamped his shoulder. It was something fellow soldiers often did. The touch reminded me how different I was now, how different all of us were.

We were nearing the sea when the trumpets blared. Men swung from the rigging of ships, and the smell of salt and fish permeated the air even as the docks erupted in chaos. Villagers ran for their homes, and men shouted. The trumpet music wasn’t pretty, it was harsh, the trills a warning. Cadeyrn pulled back on his reins, his gaze going to the sky.

“We’ve got trouble,” Gryphon called.

Hooves thundered behind us, the sound of clanging armor replaced by a call to arms. We whirled to find the king riding toward us, his blue cloak flying behind him. His personal guard surrounded him. One of them held a red-faced Arien. The heir to the throne was screaming belligerently, his voice unrecognizable.

It was only as they neared us that his screaming made sense.

“My son, Father!” he yelled. “He is my son!”

Freemont would not look at him, his narrowed gaze finding Cadeyrn. The prince steadied his stallion, his gaze locking on the king.

“It’s dangerous for all of us to be out in the open at the same time!” Cadeyrn hissed.

The guards were nervous, their gazes searching shadowed alleys and nearby rooftops. I pulled an arrow from the quiver on my back, my gaze alert. Swords hissed as they were unsheathed.

The king dismounted and pulled Arien from the guard’s saddle. He threw him on the ground before Cadeyrn’s horse.

The prince stared at Arien. “It must be tragic if you are willing to show so much weakness in public,” Cadeyrn admonished.

Freemont approached him. Grasping each side of his tunic, the king ripped open his shirt, leaving his skin bare. His dragon pendant was gone. All air left my lungs. A cold chill punched me in the gut, my heart thrumming at twice its normal speed.

Lochlen roared, the sound eerie coming from the mouth of a human man. He pulled back his hood, his yellow eyes flashing as he kicked Arien in the gut. Neither the king nor Cadeyrn stopped him.

Lochlen grabbed the heir by the neck. “Where is it?” he demanded.

I wanted to go to my knees on the cobblestone walkway, but I forced myself to keep standing. Hopelessness crashed into me.

Lochlen shook Arien. “Where is it?”

The dragon’s skin was beginning to shift out of focus, and I knew he was in danger of transforming.

King Freemont stiffened, his gaze finding Lochlen. “He’s traded it for the life of his son.”

The king’s dragon pendant was gone, stolen and handed over to Raemon’s men.

My heart filled with despair, my eyes scouring Arien’s face. “And you thought it would save him?” I asked.

The words slipped from my tongue unchecked and cold. This was a meeting of princes. I had no place in their quarrel, but Arien had handed Raemon immense power, power that could destroy us all.

Arien gazed up at me, his eyes full of hatred. “This is your fault,” he accused.

Never blinking, I leaned forward. “You have just killed your son,” I told him. It pained me to say it, pained me to face a man who’d stolen from his father out of sheer desperation. I didn’t blame Arien. Love pushed people to do things against their better judgments, anything to save those they cared about. Nevertheless, it was wrong to hide the truth from him.

My gaze found Arien’s. “I’ve stood face to face with King Raemon, Your Majesty. He does not bargain. You’ve not only given him the tool to usurp your nation, you’ve given him a reason to destroy your heir.”
 

Arien’s face fell, horror filling his gaze. “He wouldn’t,” the prince breathed.

Cadeyrn swung from his saddle, his face unreadable. His eyes, however, were full of distress, the kind only a father would know.

He offered Arien his hand. “There may still be time.”

There was no time. We all knew it.

Lochlen chose that moment to transform, his golden body launching into the air. Screams filled the frosty morning.

His reptilian eyes raked our group. “The dragons will be forced to fight now.”

Lochlen
was leaving us; I could see it in his gaze. He could travel much faster by air, and he was desperate. I wasn’t sure what the pendant was capable of, but I could see future devastation in Lochlen’s dilated pupils.

Replacing the arrow I’d pulled free of my quiver, I reached for him. Lochlen circled us, his maneuver causing the people below to fan outward. It left him room to land, his tail swinging.

Racing to him, I ran my palms down his cool scales. “You can’t!” I begged him.

His head swung in my direction. “The pendant could mean the annihilation of dragons, Stone. It would give Raemon powers that should only belong to the dracons. We must go to war or risk the extinction of our race.”

I gripped one of the spines on his back. “Then I’m going with you.”

Protests ensued. Oran rushed into my legs. Maeve and Daegan gripped the hilts of their swords until their knuckles turned white.