Chapter 18

Tythos ran through the forest, following the black figure of the nightmare. He didn’t have a plan. He was headed for the large encampment and was going to start killing people. And with a white on the way, he had no time.

Tythos had encountered whites before. He’d fed nearly twenty-thousand men to one in an attempt to kill it. It had been one of the most tragic mistakes he’d made in his lifetime. They were prepared. They’d made a plan. They’d set a trap and used siege weapons on it. They’d used fire. The backup plan had been to lure it to a secondary location and drop several tons of rock on it. Poison, heat, steel, arrows, even Tythos’s dark sword. Nothing hurt it. They tried to wear it out and trap it. None of it worked.

The whites were a scourge that woke every one to two-hundred years and hunted men. They were rare, unless summoned. This thought caused Tythos to stumble.

In the north, his people knew of them. Here, it had been long enough that dragons were mythical creatures.

There were legends that went back to when men had command of magic. The kind labeled as wild. Not the gods granted magics that Tythos destroyed.

Back then, in legend, it was possible to hurt a dragon. Many of the dragons were scavengers long ago, avoiding men and seeking the dead and the weak. When man no longer had magic, the dragons were no longer hunted. Dragons do not die. They must be killed. With age, they only grow bigger. So does their appetite. Without magic, men are at their mercy. Prey for the beast.

The second encounter with a white, he’d fed someone else’s army to it. He was not proud of this either, but he’d kept the thing out of a city. It was also the most decisive storke of the war.

The creatures were attracted to death. With enough of it in the air, they became predictable. Whites were not the most cunning of dragons. They didn’t need to be. They could do what they wanted with impunity. If he didn’t make it to the soldier camp and kill enough people in time, the white would land at the Gladwell farm and then kill everything nearby.

Tythos stopped inside the tree line, in sight of the camp to catch his breath. He knew he was on a suicide run, but he wanted to get amongst the soldiers before they raised the alarm. The camp had patrolling sentries. There were four of them. Even in this moon-bright night, the sentries left a gap in the patrol he was confident he could slip through.

He stood and turned toward the nightmare.

“Still warded?”

“Yeees…. I don’t think you understand how wards work.”

“Just checking. I suppose this is goodbye then.”

The nightmare frowned, “Do you know something I don’t?”

“Did you just leave me an opening to insult you intentionally?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Tythos chuckled, “You know, in your own fucked up way, you’re all right.”

“You know, you could deepen our bond and I could go with you. Give you access to magic again too.”

Tythos shook his head, “Fuck no. I said you’re all right, not that I want to marry you. I’m going without you.”

Tythos turned and began walking toward the camp. He said over his shoulder,

“If I see you on the other side, I’m gonna kick your ass.”

He mentally thanked whoever was in charge of luck today as he’d gotten the timing right to slip the patrol. His exit would have been ruined if he had to duck back into the trees.

The nightmare strolled up beside him. Tythos scowled at it. So much for his exit.

“I would rather not die.”

Tythos kept walking.

“When you die, I’ll die. In case that wasn’t clear.”

Tythos glanced over at the creature, “You’re not doing a good job of making a case for me not doing this.”

“Rude.”

They walked together in silence for a moment.

“Our souls are already tied together. I don’t understand why you won’t deepen our bond. You’d probably live through tonight, gain better understanding of magic, regain some of your own vitality, and have a longer life-span. You have everything to gain, and nothing to lose.”

Tythos glanced over, but the usual grin was missing. The nightmare couldn’t bluff to save its life. It appeared genuinely confused.

“Just because you once made a mistake that you can’t undo, doesn’t mean you have to embrace the mistake and let it define you, or willfully make it worse. I’ll tell you why, since this is probably the last time. My mind is still my own. My thoughts and ideas are my own. My morals and honor, my own. My choices and actions, mine. None of that is worth giving up, even for power and a longer life.”

The nightmare stopped walking. Tythos kept going.

“You know,” the Nightmare said, “if it were anyone else, they would have leapt at the opportunity for power. You’ve made a religion out of stubbornness. It’s actually delicious.”

Tythos raised a hand and flipped the creature off as he walked away.

***

Tythos could feel the line of the ward as he stepped over it. It washed his awareness of the nightmare away. It was like feeling better, after being sick so long, the memory of what wellness felt like had faded. He stood still for a moment, the feeling flooding his awareness. He took a deep breath and looked down at his hands. He was surprised to see the black outline of a hand was still there. He’d expected it to disappear with his awareness of the nightmare. His other hand held the bloodstained jawbone.

His flesh hand looked like a cracked, leathery paw. It reminded him of his father’s hands. He remembered wishing his hands looked like this when they were small and smooth. Before he knew what it took to forge a hand into this shape.

Tythos looked up. One of the patrolling soldiers walked a few paces ahead of him. Tythos watched the man walk away, the night still and peaceful. He was about to break that stillness. They had come for him. It was them who had spilled blood in the valley first. They had set the terms. This night would be a night for blood, fire and death. They had brought it on themselves.

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Tythos matched the steps of the man in front of him to mask the noise. The man sensed something was wrong and stopped. He turned to look as Tythos caught up to him. The downstroke of the jawbone caught him in the neck, snapping it with a crack that sounded like a dry branch. The soldier crumpled. Tythos reached down and drew the man’s sword with his black hand. He held it up and looked for the next threat. The sword fell through his fingers. Tythos growled as he looked down at the almost useful hand. Annoyed, he ripped the helmet from the soldier’s head. The chinstrap caught and the man’s head flopped back at an unnatural angle. The man blinked at Tythos, his mouth working open and closed, no sound coming out. His eyes were pleading, desperate. Tythos looked at him as he used the chinstrap to tie the helmet onto the end of his arm. He crouched next to the dying man, looking him in the eye.

“When you get to the other side,” Tythos said. “You can make your case against whoever ordered the deaths of the people in this valley. You’ll be first in line, so you can tell the ones who follow after.”

Running footsteps approached from behind. Tythos spun and used the helmet to turn the sword stroke and brought the jawbone down on the man’s head. He stumbled, stunned, and Tythos stepped in and struck him again. The man collapsed this time.

“You should’ve raised the alarm,” Tythos said.

He stepped over the man and struck him again.

“That’s two.”

He needed there to be more death here than in the rest of the valley if he had a hope of drawing the white. He’d left the blood behind from eleven soldiers. Then there were the Gladwell’s to consider. He figured he needed sixteen bodies on the ground to be safe. Twenty would be better.

Thunder rolled across the valley. Tythos glanced at the cloudless sky. Peony had fumbled a sigil. Probably fatal.

“Well, shit. Sorry hot-shot.”

Tythos stalked into the sleeping camp, determined to get to at least twelve before they raised the alarm.

***

Sigrun sat in the stiff command tent, awaiting the attention of the small man behind the big desk. He was writing with a quill, as he had been for the last fifteen minutes. She’d been directed to sit, by the man, who hadn’t looked up when she’d entered the tent. So she sat. She was tall enough to read what he was writing, even sitting, and was making a careful study of the middle distance instead.

Finding the camp had been easier than she expected. There were numerous fresh horse tracks in the snow and she’d followed them back here. She remembered Tythos said no one in the valley owned horses, so the tracks could only belong to king’s men. She’d been challenged upon approach, given her name and rank, then said she had urgent news for the commander.

The scribbling of that quill had been the only noise the man had made since Sigrun had sat. She’d seen his arm held the insignia that marked him second class citizen, then looked away. People of higher rank didn’t like being eyeballed. Her back still held the scars from when she’d been caught staring at the prince as a girl.

Second class Citizen was a long way from a royal. A world away. It was in fact only a rank higher than Sigrun herself held, but her rank felt like a non-reality. It’d been dropped on her and everything she’d wanted had been ripped away. Besides all that, she wanted the commander listen so Tythos didn’t try and kill everyone. She suspected he could find a way.

Sigrun glanced at the desk. She was trying to keep her focus on the tent wall and nothing in particular, but the desk was huge. She’d done her time being assigned duties moving furniture in the palace. She was bigger and stronger than the boys in her training class and most of the servants. When entire wings of the palace had to be rearranged overnight to accommodate a party, or event, or a whim of a royal, she was always asked for. She became very familiar with the palace, and the best way to move a stout cherry-wood piece up a staircase. Sigrun was not sure she could handle half of this monstrous desk by herself. Who was handling the logistics on a desk that took eight men to move in the middle of a field command?

“You like it?” The man behind the desk addressed Sigrun.

“Sir,” Sigrun said, snapping her eyes forward.

She mentally berated herself for looking, and for being caught looking.

“Very proper,” the man glanced down at a paper in front of him, “Commander Wellbourn… A respectful answer that could mean anything I like. You may address me as commander Paulson… Tell me commander Wellbourn, why are you in my camp?”

The man had an odd way of speaking. Deliberate and slow, as if taking extra care with his words. Then he’d pause long enough Sigrun would think he was done speaking, before picking right back up and resuming his thought.

“Sir,” Sigrun said. “I need to speak with the commander of this encampment. I have urgent news.”

“Then tell me, Third Wellbourn… your news.”

“Respectfully, commander Paulson, I know a First will be in charge of this camp. I need to tell my news to him.”

“I see… this is about your assignment with Tythos Tyrannous Rex, isn’t it?”

Sigrun dropped her gaze from the distance and looked at the man in front of her. She was under strict orders not to tell anyone her mission. She had been told that no one else would know her mission. The small man in front of her seemed to be enjoying her surprise and discomfort. She wasn’t sure how to respond. Was he in her chain of command? Since she’d been given no orders about anyone but the commander at Ginnung Gap, she had to assume no. But he knew her mission.

“You’re wondering if I have authority to give you orders… I do. Let me ask you again… why are you here, in my camp, instead of being with your unit? You were instructed to take charge of and escort Tythos with all haste… were you not?”

“Sir. My exact orders were to move with all haste that secrecy would allow, and to escort Tythos to Ginnung Gap by any means necessary.”

This wasn’t an answer and Sigrun knew it, but she didn’t trust the man sitting in front of her. Something about the way he was looking at her made her feel vulnerable; exposed.

“Where is Tythos now?”

“My unit has him secure and are awaiting my return.”

“Do they now? Then you have no reason to be in my camp… I want you to return to your unit and depart this valley with Tythos at first light—“ he paused, looking behind Sigrun.

She followed his gaze and looked over her shoulder. The tent flap opened, and a tall, steely eyed man strode in. Sigrun saw he was First commander and stood to attention. The man strode around the desk and took a seat. Sigrun blinked. The small man who had been questioning her was nowhere to be seen. She wanted to look around the room for him, but stood at attention.

“I am First commander Atticus,” the man said, his voice more along the lines of what Sigrun expected from a commander. “And you are Sigrun Wellbourn. Don’t look surprised, you’re easy to pick out of a crowd. Tell me, how is it that you’re standing in front of my desk, when I dispatched four units with orders to escort you out of the valley and see you on your way?”

“Sir. I don’t know anything about your dispatch, but the reason that I’m standing here is so that I can get on my way.”

The man’s eyebrows rose and she expected him to dress her down, but he said,

“Go on.”

“Sir. My orders are to—“

“I know your orders unit commander, skip to the part that pertains to why you’re here.”

“Sir. I have secured a deal with Tythos, as ordered, to agree to the terms to be set by the commander at Ginnung Gap. His cooperation is contingent upon being able to guarantee the safety of the people in this valley after our departure.”

The First commander’s eyebrows continued their climb up his forehead as she spoke. When she finished, they crashed down.

“No, unit commander. His cooperation is contingent upon nothing. He has no rights. He is the property of the king. You will take him to Ginnung gap, and he will do as he is told. Am I clear?”

“Sir.”

“Sec’Paulson!”

Sigrun heard the tent flap behind her open, and the short man she’d been speaking with first, stepped up beside her.

“Sir?” Second commander Paulson said.

Sigrun ached to try and figure out what was going on with this man.

“Have unit commander Wellbourn put under arrest until her unit is found and brought here, then make sure they are escorted out of the valley.”

“Sir.” Paulson said, and disappeared.

First commander Atticus looked down at the papers on his desk, pulling out the quill and beginning to work.

Sigrun knew she was dismissed, but she felt she had to try, at least one more time to state her case.

“Sir?”

The first commander didn’t look up,

“Why are you still here, unit commander?”

“Sir, I really don’t think any of us is capable of controlling Tythos. However, I believe he will stick to his word. If you just agree to the deal on the table—“

“Unit commander, this may surprise you to hear, but I have a mission to carry out here as well. You being here jeopardizes my mission. If you did not possess the bargaining chip that required you to be in command of this particular operation, I would relieve you of duty right here and send you, trussed up, back to the palace to receive punishment. Do I make myself clear?”

Sigrun opened her mouth to say she no longer had the hand in her possession, then thought of her orders: By any means necessary.

“Sir,” she said, and walked out.

Outside the tent, there were two soldiers waiting. Second Commander Paulson was standing between them, he looked up as she stepped out.

“You should have stayed with your unit,” he said. “Take unit commander Wellbourn to holding.”

Sigrun heard shouting from somewhere in the camp, it sounded urgent, but she coudln’t make it out. Then a horn started to blow, short rapid blasts. Someone was sounding the alarm. The camp was under attack. The horn blowing cut off mid-blast. The whole camp was silent for a moment, then more men began shouting. The horn blasts were taken up again from another part of the camp. The armed soldiers led Sigrun away, as the camp descended into chaos.

***