War In The Winds (Book 9) (12 page)

He frowned.

“Nath,” she said, easing her hips on the table, “there is a Truce, at least there is on our end.”

“You mean your end.”

She shrugged. “As I see it, it was not my dragons that struck first. Inferno was ambushed.”

“There must have been a reason,” Nath said.

“There is a war, and not all wars are fought with battle. There are more subversive tactics than that.” She pushed the tea toward him. “Drink. Talk. Listen.”

He took a sip from the cup. “Happy?”

“Now is not a time to be happy,” she said. “Now is a time for mourning the lost. And a time for planning.” She stroked his hair. “Nath, we’ve made a Truce with the races, but a truce with the dragons is another thing entirely. And I don’t think they would have acted on their own without orders.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her and said, “What are you trying to say?”

“I think you know what I’m suggesting.”

He stiffened in his chair and pushed her hand away.

“You think my father is responsible for this? Do you?”

“You are thinking the same thing, Nath,” she said, grabbing his chin and staring straight into his eyes. “My dragons were attacked without provocation. You saw that.”

“What I saw was a battle.” He pushed himself out of the chair.

“A senseless slaughter!” She banged her fist on the table. “You saw Inferno. He’s one of the most ancient dragons in the world, and he was picked off in a battle without honor.”

Nath’s stomach churned. She was right. The dragons had hit Inferno hard and fast. The great beast had been blindsided.

“I have no doubt you have used similar tactics.” Nath tore off a leg of turkey and bit into it. Selene lifted a brow. He waggled the leg at her. “And it was under your orders that this war began in the first place.”

“Hah!” She tossed her head back. “You are a fool! This war started long before me or you. If anyone initiated it, it was your father.”

“You dare!”

“I do dare!” She seized his arm. “Nath, I know you love your father, but what has he ever done? He sits in the Mountain of Doom and dispenses orders to his minions.”

“What minions?”

“Oh Nath,” she sighed. “Are you so naïve? Do you think in all the land you were the only one rescuing dragons and keeping an eye on things? Your father has as many spies as I. Likely more. And not just dragons. There are elves, humans, and what about your dear friend Brenwar? What do you think Balzurth
does
inside that mountain home when you’re not around?”

“Sleep?”

She held her gut and broke out in laughter. “Ah-aha-ha-ha-ha!”

Nath tossed the turkey leg onto the table. “Pah!” He scowled. “You don’t know everything.”

“And you do,” she said, chuckling. She caught her breath. “Oh, I needed that laugh. I don’t think I’ve laughed so hard in years. You amuse me, Nath.”

His jaw muscles clenched. Again, Selene was pointing out things he’d never considered before. Why wouldn’t his father have other spies? How else did he keep such a close watch on things? There were times, so many times, when he spoke with his father and his father seemed to know everything. It only made sense that he had help with it.

“Why would my father want war?”

Selene cleared her throat and took a sip of tea.

“Balzurth has one way of controlling things, and Gorn Grattack has another. It’s a fight between the two of
them
, if you ask me,” she said, “and I think it should be the two of
them
fighting it out and not us, their … oh, how shall I put it?” She tapped her clawed finger on her chin. “You don’t like minions—you made that clear, so how about henchmen? Yes, we are their henchmen. Or foot soldiers? Do you like that?”

“No,” he said.

“Nath,” she said, resting her elbow on the back of his chair, “Gorn Grattack raised me to serve his purpose, and Balzurth raised you to serve his own. It’s as simple as that. Are we special? Yes, I suppose. We can both do things other dragons cannot do, but we are just pawns, in the larger scheme of things.”

“I don’t believe that,” he said. “I’m supposed to take my father’s throne one day.”

“And if you aren’t worthy,” she said, “then it will have to be another.”

The blunt statement stung, and his eyes drifted to his hands. Black scales with a little mix of white.

“No one is perfect, Nath, and that includes our sires. They just want us to think they are.”

He rubbed his temples and said, “So what is the point in all this?”

She shrugged and said, “I suppose to them it’s entertainment, but I think we can change that. I think
you
can change it.”

“I’m tired of all this fighting!” he said, balling up his fists.

“Then put an end to all of it, Nath. You and I can bring peace among the dragons. I believe it.”

Everything had become more difficult and more confusing. One day, he could turn into a dragon. The next day, he couldn’t. He was banished by his father yet accepted by his enemy. He had black scales, white scales, and could make balls of fire with his mouth. He had fallen a thousand feet and survived. But now, at this very moment, he felt…

Nath glared at Selene. She had a way of making him feel as helpless as an infant. And a way of combining the truth with lies. Still, he found himself agreeing with what she said.

“Are you suggesting we rebel against our sires?”

Selene got up and rested her hands around his neck and shoulders.

“Now you are starting to think the way a true dragon prince should think.”

CHAPTER 21

Whistledown. It had been either a large village or a small town; one could no longer tell. Buildings were shattered or burned to the ground. The streets were empty of life, the farmland and vineyards overgrown with weeds.

Sasha kept her hand clasped to Bayzog’s. The husband and wife had not parted company for more than a moment since they reunited over a month ago. They walked hand in hand, arms swinging a little. Behind them, Ben and their boys followed.

“A strange place,” Rerry said. He eyed his brother Samaz. “I’m sure you like it.”

“I do,” Samaz said softly.

“Of course,” Rerry said, dusting his light hair out of his eyes. “Must be the lack of people.”

“Behave yourself,” Sasha said. She nudged Bayzog’s shoulder. “They never stop unless it’s something else they fight.”

Bayzog bumped her back and nodded.

“They are as feisty as their mother,” he said, looking into her eyes, “and that’s a quality I always admired about you.”

“That’s not a good thing,” she said, lowering her eyes. “Sometimes dangerous.”

“Sasha, let it go,” Bayzog said. Sasha had been apologizing profusely for days, and Bayzog had forgiven her profusely even though he didn’t think there was anything to forgive. “You are too hard on yourself. Everyone makes mistakes.”

“You don’t.”

“I have,” he said.

“Name one, then,” she said. “I’d like to hear.”

“Me too,” Rerry said, catching up.

“Count me in,” said Ben, strolling along Sasha’s side, smiling.

Bayzog swallowed the lump in his throat. He’d made mistakes—he was certain of it—but they eluded him. Finally, he said, “I never should have left my wife’s side, nor my children’s.”

“Mmmm…” Sasha started. “I can accept that.”

Bayzog’s eyes enlarged.

“I’m joking, Bayzog. A jest. You did nothing wrong with that.” She hugged the robed sleeve of his arm. “You had a greater duty.”

“Greater than family?”

“You know what you did was right,” she said. “I know it, too. We all do. And we can’t win this battle with you thinking like that.”

Bayzog appreciated her words. They rang true in his heart, but it ached anyway. His boys were men now, and he hadn’t been there to see it happen.

“We are ready to go where you go now, Father,” Rerry said, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Even my overly knit brother can handle himself.”

Bayzog glanced over his shoulder. Samaz sauntered behind them, dark hair covering all but the small elven tip of one ear. His sleepy eyes seemed to watch both everything at once and nothing at all. The Samaz he saw now was a far cry from the one in the cave, ranting about Gorn Grattack, sweating and chest heaving. Now, Samaz moved with perfect peace.

“Son,” Bayzog said, releasing Sasha’s hand and drifting alongside Samaz, “what are you feeling?”

“Nothing at the moment,” he said, “but there was a tremor earlier. Gave me the bumps.”

“I’ll give you a bump,” Rerry injected.

Bayzog’s violet eyes narrowed on his younger son.

“Sorry,” Rerry said.

“Anything else?” Bayzog said to Samaz.

“No, I just hope I feel something before it’s too late.”

A brisk gust of wind slammed into them, howling.

Whistledown, north of Quintuklen, rested on the plains inside of leagues of canyons. They walked toward a mostly dry riverbed where much water had flowed not so long ago. Now there was but a tiny stream.

“How can an entire river be gone?” Samaz said. “I remember coming here as a boy.”

“The giants and dragons drank it up,” Rerry said. He picked up a smooth river stone and chucked it to the other side. “Or monstrous beavers made a dam. So, now that we’re here, what do we do, Father, start a new village?”

“We wait,” Bayzog said, looking toward the darkening skies. “Now, let’s make some shelter.”

***

“Let me see that,” Brenwar said, holding out his hand.

“A moment, if you please,” Pilpin replied. He held up to his eye a spyglass cast in iron. He peered into the valley below the canyon’s rim. “My eyes are better than yours anyway.”

“They certainly are not.”

“They certainly are too,” the feisty little dwarf replied.

Brenwar snatched it away.

“No need to be so rude,” Pilpin said.

“I gave you an order. You ignored it.” With a grunt, Brenwar surveyed the demolished town of Whistledown, and his heart sagged. It had been one of the nicest places in Nalzambor, even though it wasn’t dwarven. The people were warm and so was their food. They made fine ale too, for common folk. Now, it was a heap with little sign of life. “Truce, my behind.”

“What’s that?” Pilpin said.

“Seems you don’t hear so well, Pilpin.”

“You grumble so.”

Brenwar slapped the spyglass so that it collapsed, and then he spit through his beard, saying, “Grumbling is what dwarves do.”

“But you do it worse than most.”

He shook his head. Pilpin was a good companion, but his chronic comments became cumbersome.

“Why don’t you go check on the horses or something?” Brenwar said.

“They are fine.”

“Then go crack rocks on your head.”

“
Well
then!” Pilpin sauntered off.

Brenwar could still envision Whistledown with its cheery voices and smiling faces. Fishermen came from all over to wade in the wide but shallow river. Nath loved to go fishing there when he was younger. They’d walked the sandy riverbanks for weeks at a time on occasion. Now those days were gone. The knuckles on Brenwar’s fist turned white. It had all happened so fast.

Backing away from the canyon’s rim, he took a seat on a pile of rocks and unwrapped the blood-soaked bandage on his leg. He and Pilpin had fought their way through every forest, hillside, and meadow between here and Morgdon. The hidden landscape crawled with evil. He scooped up some dirt and rubbed it in the wound.

“Ah … that’ll do.”

He took the bandage, found a clean spot, and polished his breastplate. The leather bindings creaked, and he could feel a loose spot where one of the buckles was busted. A dragon’s claw had ripped through it, but Brenwar’s war hammer had dotted it in the head. He’d never seen so many dragons before, not even in Dragon Home. It left him uncomfortable. Closing his eyes, he leaned back against the rocky ledge. The canyon winds stirred his beard. Combing his fingers through it, he fell asleep.

“Ugh!” Brenwar jerked up. It was pitch black, and rainfall was soaking him. Harshly, he whispered, “Pilpin!”

No reply.

He scanned the darkness and cocked an ear.

Where is that little bearded monster?

Wiping the rain from his eyes, he had rolled up onto his knees when his instincts fired. He clutched for War Hammer—and found nothing.

“Woe is me.”

Two shadows closed in on either side of him, hemming him in. Spears pointed at his neck.

Brenwar tried to grab one of the spears by the shaft, but the steel head eased away, and the other cracked against the back of his skull.

“Fast for a dwarf,” a hollow voice said, “but slow for anything else.”

“I’ll show you slow,” Brenwar said. His knees bent, and he readied to spring.

“Even naps don’t do you well.” The cloaked figure tossed something at his feet.
Thunk.
“Here’s a pillow.”

War Hammer lay at his feet. Brenwar snatched it up, saying, “You’re a piece of work, pot belly.” He huffed. “I thought I was rid of you.”

Shum pulled his hood back and offered a stony smile.

“And I you, but it seems a season passed.”

Hoven, the other ranger, offered Brenwar a hand.

He took it. It was good to see them, so long as they didn’t know it was.

“Where’s that bearded runt?” Brenwar said.

“He sleeps.”

Brenwar stretched out his thick arms and yawned.

“What is
with
this place?”

“How long had it been since you last slept?”

Brenwar shrugged and nodded.

“So, have you gathered anything on the others?”

It had been a year. The time to meet had come. It was good to know the rangers were fine, but he wondered about Bayzog and Ben. And Nath…

“We caught wind of your horses,” Shum said, resting his hands on his stomach, “as we traveled in.”

“You walked?”

“We lost our steeds to a black-winged dragon some time ago,” Shum said.

Brenwar’s heart fell. Losing a mount, especially a Roamer steed, was contemptible. And he knew the steeds were more than the best. They were friends that would die for you.