Chapter 20

Lance woke to someone blowing a horn. His head hurt and he was having trouble moving. It felt like something was holding him down. His face was wet. Lance tried shifting, and was rewarded with a stabbing pain in his face and shoulder. His face was pressed into something, he tried to pull away, but the pressure kept him in place. He was cold. Lance blew out and tasted water. It was snow, on its way to becoming ice, that he was pressed into. Several people were shouting nearby. Lance listened, trying to figure out where he was.

“What was that noise?” said a man

“I never heard anything like it,” said another.

“Sounded like a horn to me,” said a third.

“Cut the chatter!” said a fourth voice. This sounded like a unit commander.

Lance felt relief. If he was hearing soldiers, then he wasn’t in the hands of the shadow men. The horn came again, this time shaking the ground and causing whatever had him pinned to shift. With a grunt of effort, Lance managed to move his head so his face was no longer pressed into the snow. This caused his head to start throbbing in a disorienting way. Lance lay still, waiting for it to pass.

The sound shaking the ground rolled into a growl. Lance felt his senses sharpen as he remembered Bird’s warning: Dragon. Then he remembered the building had exploded. That would explain what was on top of him. He remembered being hit by something.

That growl must be the dragon. Lance couldn’t tell which direction it was coming from. He had never seen a dragon. He was too young. He had only heard of them or read about them. The stories had sounded exaggerated. Unkillable, calamitous beasts that could level entire cities or destroy armies. The last recorded report of a dragon was from a legion commander who reported that Tythos had sent one against his forces. Said the man controlled them. He stated this as the reason he had lost nearly everyone under his command. Lance figured this was a weak report from a man trying to play into superstitions to save his career.

Lance turned to get a hand on the piece of building that had him pinned. He could use magic to move it. Then he thought better of it. It sounded like there was group of agitated soldiers nearby. He didn’t want to get shot. He decided to wait and listen. Whatever a dragon really was, it was bound to be enough of a distraction to allow him to slip away.

He shifted again and found he was actually able to get his legs free. The thing that had him pinned had settled so that it was no longer resting on him. One of his legs began to tingle painfully as blood flow returned to it. Lance squirmed forward until he was able to peer out of a gap between the timbers. He saw glimpses of soldiers and horses. Even with his limited view, he could see both were agitated.

The low, horn-like blast came again, this time closer and louder. Lance still couldn’t get a fix on what direction it was coming from. He had never heard a sound this loud before, except for thunder. The ground shook under the assault of noise. It rolled into a gurgling growl that seemed to be coming from everywhere. One of the horses reared and threw its rider, then bolted. The other horses followed. Lance heard their hoofbeats retreating, then there was a thump he could feel through the ground. The debris above him groaned and shifted.

Lance tried to twist to get a look in the direction of the the noises, but his view was blocked. He heard an impact and one of the horses screamed. The sound was cut off with a crunch. Lance held very still. The trumpeting call came again, the sound too low for him to process well. It made his head swim, and the pile of timbers he was under shifted again. The low call was again followed by a growl, low and menacing. There was a series of footsteps that Lance felt more than heard. A clawed foot the size of a horse entered his field of view, obscuring a good portion of it.

The trunk of a leg it was connected to was heavily muscled and armored in glistening white scales. One of the soldiers screamed and Lance heard a tearing sound. Another man ran forward with a battle cry, and Lance heard the sound of steel ringing on stone. The creature stepped on the man with a sickening crunch. This opened up a view of the remaining soldiers, clustered together. Lance saw a great white head come down and snap shut on one of the men, lifting him into the air. The other soldiers ran. With surprising quickness, the dragon leapt after them, shaking the ground as it landed.

‘That thing’s going to accidentally crush me if I stay here,’ Lance thought.

He began to squirm his way free from the wreckage. Lance saw what the tearing sound had been. The ground nearby was covered in blood and the remains of three men. One had been torn into pieces. For the second time today, the rank smell of bowels clawed its way into his nose. Lance ignored it and looked for the monster. He couldn’t see it from where he lay, halfway out.

His heart thundered as he pulled himself free and crouched by the pile of timbers. The beast was on the other side of the farmhouse. He could see its back over the roof of the structure. Someone was screaming.

Lance looked across the field toward the tree line. Too far. He was too exposed out here. He crept toward the stable. The upper story of the building was mostly missing and on fire. Lance moved around the side of the building, putting it between himself and the dragon.

A wild eyed soldier was pressed with his back against the wall and startled as Lance came around the corner. Lance held his fingers to his lips, trying to shush the man.

The low note came again. For a moment it was all lance could hear. It felt like his head was ringing with it. It hurt. Lance leaned against the wall as a wave of dizziness came with the note. The building was vibrating with it. He shut his eyes and focused on breathing. The note stopped. Lance opened his eyes and squinted against the pounding in his head. The soldier was picking himself up off the ground.

“Little men,” said a voice. It rumbled, with the same deep resonant quality of the terrible note. “I hear your heartbeats.”

‘Is the dragon speaking?’ Lance thought.

Lance shook his head. The voice was loud and it surrounded him like the growl had. He couldn’t tell which direction it was coming from. He looked at the soldier to see if he was hearing it too. The man was looking around with a look of terror on his face.

“They call out to me,” said the voice. “Begging to be silenced.”

Lance heard a crashing, ripping sound. There was a series of heavy thuds and more crashing. It sounded like the dragon was ripping the log house to pieces.

“Your deaths are so sweet,” said the voice. “A sweet song I long to hear.”

There was a pause, the night becoming still. Lance knew what he thought was happening. He thought the dragon was speaking. Nothing he had read mentioned anything about dragons being able to speak. The soldier leaned close to Lance.

“We’ve,” the man hissed in a low whisper. “Got… to… run.”

Lance used hand sign to indicate they should get low and get quiet. The man shook his head, eyes wide, and held up a hand with three fingers.

‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ Lance thought. ‘What are the chances, two people in the same night would count down to bad decisions right in front of me like this?’

The soldier began to count down. Two fingers.

Lance looked up at the starry heavens,

‘Are you trying to tell me something Father Luck?’ he thought.

One finger.

The field the soldier was about to sprint into was an open moonlit expanse. There were trees off to one side, but going that way would have an exposed sight line to the farmhouse. The same one the dragon had torn to pieces. The other direction connected to the road, but with a lane that led to the farmhouse. Same problem, and further to run to cover. Straight across the field was the furthest. However, if the dragon hunted by sight it could be the best bet.

The soldier took off running. He chose the shortest path to cover, the one with the shortest sight line to the farmhouse. Lance began to back away, moving with care to make little noise.

The soldier cleared the side of the building. Running across the exposed area for the trees. Lance continued backing up, listening hard for any sounds except for the crunch of the soldier’s steps and the beating of his own heart. The night had taken on an uneasy quiet. It was the sound of waiting. The soldier was almost to the trees.

‘Is he going to make it?’ Lance wondered.

A large shape flashed across the open and landed on the running man. Lance winced. The dragon hit the soldier with its forepaws then spread its wings, coming to a stop almost in midair. It touched down with barely any noise and folded its wings. It raised one of its paws and lance saw it had the soldier impaled on one of its talons. It had gone through his back and out his chest. The man flailed his arms; still alive. Lance continued to back up as the dragon brought the man to its mouth. It bit down and pulled. Lance stepped around the corner as the man was ripped apart with the wet sound of tearing gristle and flesh.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

***

Something pinged at his awareness and Tythos ducked. There was the bark of a crossbow and a bolt whistled through the air where he’d been standing. Tythos rolled to the side and came up running, his body protesting. He let the pain drive him as he overtook the man who’d fired the bolt.

The soldier had his sword half-drawn as Tythos fell on him, swinging the jawbone. His strike knocked the man prone and Tythos followed him down, using the helmet at the end of his arm to club anything he could reach. After a second of struggle with flailing limbs, Tythos brought it down on the man’s head with a meaty crunch. Tythos straddled the man and brought the helmet down again and again, until the figure stopped clawing at him. He sat on the twitching form, breathing hard. It was becoming harder to find stragglers as the camp organized itself.

“Sixteen,” Tythos muttered.

He looked around, trying to spot another threat. The tent he had left the girl in had caught fire and spread to several of the surrounding tents. He hadn’t seen if she’d left the tent. He was sure it’d been the girl who’d set it on fire.

Soldiers were patrolling in groups near the burning tents. A waving figure caught his eye, standing just outside the perimeter of the camp. Tythos recognized it and jogged over, keeping an eye out for more soldiers lurking with crossbows. He stepped outside the wards and awareness flooded back as he stood next to the Nightmare.

“There you are,” the Nightmare said.

Tythos looked back the way he’d come, watching for patrols.

“The hell do you want?” Tythos said. “Did you do what I asked? I’ve almost put down enough men to attract the white.”

“No, there’s a problem.”

“Problem? What kind of problem? I need those bones on the ground.”

“I took a closer look at the wards—“

“And?”

“Aaand, they’re not set to keep only my senses out of this camp.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“It looks like they’re set to block the senses of dragons as well.”

“What? I didn’t know that was possible.”

“It looks like someone has figured it out.”

Tythos cursed, studying the chaos of the camp.

“How many men would I need to kill to overwhelm their protection?”

“How many have you killed already?”

“Sixteen.”

The nightmare pulled at its chin, elongating its frown.

“I still can’t sense anything,” it said.

“So?”

“Well, I’m proud to say, my senses are sharper than even a white’s.”

“What’s your point?”

“The one headed for the valley looked young, I doubt if you killed everyone in the camp it’d be able to detect a thing.”

“Shit.”

“Yeees. It’s going to the valley first.”

“Ideas?”

“I think I could counter-ward, using my beautiful bone collection to lay the pattern.”

“Would that work?”

“It would amplify any death here and act like a beacon for anything nearby.”

“Anything?”

“Anything attracted to death.”

Tythos thought of the creatures that roamed the wild. He shook his head.

“We’d doom this valley anyway. Can you tailor it to dragons?”

“Not quickly.”

“This is not a good option.”

“The white is probably already in the valley.”

Tythos cursed again. No one in the valley would live if he didn’t act quickly.

“Do it. How long do you need?”

“I’ve already started.”

Tythos looked at the ground and saw there was a pattern of bones stretching out behind the creature, following the curve of the camp.

“Another ten minutes to complete the circle, as long as no one disturbs it before it’s activated.”

“Finish up. I’ll go catch and hold their attention.”

“We’ll still need to activate it.”

“Worry about that when we get there.”

“If you just deepened our bond, we could—“

“Out of the question. Get busy and I’ll meet you to power the ward.”

“If you try that in your state it’ll kill you…”

“I already knew I wasn’t walking away from tonight. Now get to work.”

Tythos stalked back into the camp.

***

Sigrun had been escorted across half the camp, her escort slowed by the confusion. For some reason this camp was using commons as runners and they were darting back and forth. Though she had not seen a legion set up for a field operation, she could tell things here were not running the way they should.

The first horn blast should have called all the linemen to arms, the unit commanders organizing them and receiving orders from the runners. Instead, there seemed to be few linemen present, many of the soldiers she saw wearing an insignia she was unfamiliar with. The mysterious rank was higher than the men who were acting as her escort, as one ordered the pair back the direction they had come. They had tried to argue they had a task, but the man had gotten in their face and they had complied. Her escorts had been afraid of the soldier who held the unfamiliar rank. So Sigrun had been escorted back across the camp to the dispatch tent.

She was standing outside the tent, under the guard of one of her escorts, when the fire started. From where she stood, she could hear two unit commanders organizing a search. No one seemed to know how the camp was under attack. She overheard the word, “wards,” from inside the dispatch tent several times, then runners went back the way they had come.

Sigrun was standing in sight of the command tent as first commander Atticus emerged.

“Sec’Paulson!” the first commander bellowed.

He stood for a moment, waiting for the man to appear, looking ready to strangle someone. He repeated the command, but no one showed up. Anger creasing his features, and he stormed over to the dispatch tent. He stopped and looked at her for a moment. Sigrun stood at attention. He shook his head and stalked inside the tent.

“Where is Sec’Paulson?” she heard him yell.

Someone said something she didn’t catch.

“What do you mean you don’t know? Why aren’t the men assembled?”

Sigrun thought this was a good question. She strained to hear the answer. Someone across the camp screamed, making it so she only caught,

“…the warders keep sending the runners back, refusing to…”

A voice cut across the entire camp, distant, but loud and clear.

“I am Tythos Tyrannous Rex! Tythos Black Hand, tyrant of fire and blood!”

The men around her all stopped to listen. Sigrun groaned.

“I demand parley with this legion’s commander or I will put every last man here to death!”

Tythos stepped into view, he was a ways off, but even at the distance, Sigrun could see he was holding his black hand aloft. The men were all giving him space as he walked forward. Everyone had heard the stories of Tythos Black-Hand. They knew what that hand meant.

As he walked closer, Sigrun could see the fresh linens he’d put on were now covered in blood. First commander Atticus stepped out of the dispatch tent and looked at the approaching figure of Tythos. He turned his glare on Sigrun and asked,

“What have you done?”

***

Lance moved inside the building as the tearing sounds continued outside the structure. The upper story of it was on fire, but Lance would rather be inside a burning building than outside at the moment. Part of the interior had collapsed and moonlight was streaming in through the crater in the roof. It was still difficult to navigate the gloom despite the moonlight. Lance felt his way forward, fearful of distrubing a bucket or tool that would betray him with noise.

Someone ahead of him in the darkness let out a soft moan. Lance froze, holding his breath. The tearing sound outside paused. Lance could feel himself begin to sweat. A drop tickled its way down his side. The noises of tearing flesh resumed and Lance slowly let out the breath. Trying to move faster, Lance felt his way forward to find who had moaned and shut them up. He stepped on something soft. He reached down and discovered it was a body. He pulled his dagger and felt for the neck of the figure. He found long hair. This wasn’t a soldier. It had to be Peony.

Peony stirred and Lance clamped a hand over his mouth, leaning in close.

“Don’t make a sound,” Lance hissed in his ear.

Peony nodded, thankfully coherent, and Lance put the dagger away. He helped the kid up and stepped into a shaft of moonlight. Peony looked like he’d gotten too close to a fire. His clothes were blackened in places and his hair was singed. Peony blinked at him and swayed on his feet, but stayed upright. He raised his hands and signed,

“Why quiet?”

Lance was relieved to see the kid knew how to sign. He should, as a trained thaumaturge, but Lance had not seen him sign before.

“Danger close,” Lance signed.

Peony’s eyebrows raised, a clear question on his face. Lance had no idea how to sign, ‘dragon,’ so he leaned in and whispered the word. Peony’s eyes widened, but instead of looking scared, he looked excited. Lance glowered at him and shook his head.

“It hunts,” Lance signed. “Running bad. Noise bad.”

Peony nodded, then looked around, taking in his surroundings. He looked up through the hole in the structure.

“Fire,” Peony signed.

Lance nodded.

“Listen,” Lance signed.

Peony cocked his head and seemed to take in the tearing sound coming from outside for the first time. The sounds stopped, replaced by a growl that shook the building. One of the burning boards fell from the roof onto the second floor with a clatter.

“Come,” said the dragon, turning the growl into speech. “Present yourselves to me, little men, and sing the song of death.”

Footsteps began to move around the building, their tread lighter than Lance expected for a creature that size. If there hadn’t been snow on the ground, he doubted he would hear them over the growing sound of the fire. Peony looked at Lance with wide eyes.

Lance thought hard, trying to figure out a way out of this situation. From what he’d read, swords were useless against dragons. He didn’t know what use a rapier would be against a creature the size of a building even if they weren’t. They needed to distract it and get away. A burning building was a short lived hiding place.

He glanced back at Peony to see if the kid was panicking. The opposite of panic seemed to be taking place. His eyes were alight and dancing and he had a huge grin on his face. With excited gestures he signed,

“We can fight! Kill.”

Lance blinked at the skinny, half-scorched kid standing in front of him. He understood the kid was naive, but he hadn’t expected manic devotion to the propaganda the tower taught.

According to the official founding charter, the purpose for the pursuit of magic was the betterment of man. One specific line read: “To combat such external malevolent forces, such as dragons, which threaten not only our way of life, but our continued existence as a species.”

The young wide eyed recruits were fed this nonsense, while obedience was drilled into them. The truth of the matter was that the king’s thaumaturges were for killing people. In everything Lance had read, it was an accepted truth, that dragons could not be killed, and violence against them with magic resulted in malicious reprisals. There was a truce of sorts in place, where the lands where the dragons fed were re-populated after every feeding—which was usually once every hundred years—and in turn the dragons left the cities alone. Lance only knew this because of his involvement with the king’s shadow. Peony would not know the actual details, since the last feed had begun almost forty years ago, and ended with the war of fire and blood, eleven years ago. This should mean no dragons would be seen for at least sixty years. So fresh thaumaturges would not be told how to handle them, which was to under no circumstance use magic on them and to keep as far away as possible.

The whole building shook as the dragon brushed against the outside, its rough scales scraping, as loud as an impact with stones. Part of the upper floor collapsed, sending a shower of sparks and smoking debris down through the hole. Lance jumped to the the side and shielded his eyes. He coughed as hot ash filled the air.

The growl from the dragon came again, making Lance’s chest hurt as he struggled to get control of his coughing.

“I hear you,” said the dragon. “Come prostrate yourself before me. Worship me, and I might let you live.”

‘This sort of shit is like being back in the palace,’ Lance thought. ‘Besides not mentioning talking, the texts also don’t mention dragons playing fucking mind games with their food.’

Lance looked around for Peony, blinking smoke from his watering eyes. He had an idea, he just needed… Lance looked around the stable again. Peony was gone.

***