The Confliction (Book Three of the Dragoneers Saga) (Dragoneer Saga) (11 page)

King Blanchard was nearly frozen when the hood was finally pulled from his head. To his numbed surprise, it was one of the Royal Guardsmen from the Mainsted palace standing there looking at him worriedly. He was certain the feet of the body he was in were frozen, or ruined with bite, but he was glad someone had found him. He couldn’t move, though, nor could he talk. He did grunt and nod that he was conscious.

“By the hells, Highness, you’ve ruined my feet,” said Linux, from Rolph’s body, as he started casting a restoration spell that would slowly warm the king from the inside.

“Is it you?” King Blanchard asked in a tiny whisper.

“It is,” Linux answered. The look they shared was more relief than anything.

“Do you think I would leave you?” It was his wife, the queen, speaking now. King Blanchard’s eyes must have been deceiving him, because for a moment it looked as if she had a snarling canine snout. Sometimes he forgot that she was a witch of the Hazeltine. There was another witch with them. He couldn’t believe Linux hadn’t died in his body. He remembered it now, seeing the guardsman roll over his corpse and then back-scrabble away. And his wife... what was she doing here?

Ohhhh.
His feet were starting to tingle. The pleasant sensation slowly shifted to a hard ache—an ache like no other he had ever felt before. It was suddenly as if his feet were immersed in fire. He was consumed with it. He cried out so loud that his throat tore with the effort. Then all of a sudden the absence of pain was so abnormal that he felt as if his feet were pillows, or puffy clouds.

The queen stepped forward and he embraced her lovingly. Obviously she had come through a great deal to get there to him. When he smiled at Linux, the guardsman’s face scrunched up in disgust.

“What happened to my tooth?” Linux threw his arms up.

“Never mind, we must be off,” the queen said. “Here, love, hold on tightly,” she told her husband as she morphed back into a fierce looking witch-wolf.

King Blanchard shuddered and nearly fainted at the sight. When Linux climbed onto the other witch-wolf and they leapt up to the ledge of the courtyard’s roof and bounded away, he knew it was wise to follow. Where his witchy wife was taking him, he had no idea. He was glad to be going there, though, and as much as he despised Linux deep down for soul-stepping him in the first place, he was glad to see him, too.

The Outlands

Hard winter weeks passed at the castle while the Dragoneers and their dragons recovered. They had gotten Zahrellion back, and that was what they’d set out to do. The price paid for that victory was beyond imagining, though. There were fewer rangers than there were witches left, and King Richard’s last ships were already setting sail from the Mainland for good. The Frontier was no longer a promising place. The Dragoneers who could fly ventured out when the weather permitted and brought home tales of destruction and blood-stained snow. At best, they felt impotent to stop what was happening. No matter how strong the dragons were, flying in a white-out was near impossible. At least Marcherion was awake and speaking. Both of his legs were splinted, but he would recover. Herald, on the other hand, was lying on one of the replenishing slabs the witches discovered in some hard to find chambers. He was still and pale, and might as well have been a marble carving.

Jenka was healing faster than the rest of them, due to a lingering effect of a restorative spell Jade had cast on him long ago. Jenka remembered that first meeting and cringed. He was nearly killed, and had he not saved Jade from those trolls, Jade wouldn’t have been able to save him in turn. He was glad for the encounter, though. Jade was as much a part of him as his hands or feet.

Tkux and his ogres were almost finished with the saddles. Clover’s design was clever and allowed for satchels of gear to be tied on near the rider. Jenka and Jade tried one and it was amazing how much more maneuverability Jade had when Jenka was strapped in. They went upside down and took wild whipping turns without losing anything they carried. It was incredible.

Young Jade was growing strong. Dragons of Jade’s age yearned to roam the world and stretch the limits of their being. It pained Jenka to know that they were not done battling the Sarax. Jade deserved better than to be forced to fight for a race that had hunted his kind since they arrived, but the dragon did it willingly for his bond-mate. Jenka kept his mind from getting caught up in the dismal state of things by thinking about his wyrm and the quality of the link they shared. Then he began to ponder the Sarax.

The idea that sea water scalded the alien beasts was a welcome one. Jenka remembered the bladder drawings Rikky was talking about, and they found other sketches Clover had made of it in her study. The ogres were already making their own version of the weapon for the Dragoneers to test.

Jenka learned that Zah’s lung had been pierced and that she would be a long time in recovery. Zahrellion’s information on the ‘life manna’ the druids were extracting and feeding the Sarax was disturbing. The higher druids were spelling the souls out of living people and making them into a tasty human meatloaf.

Zahrellion cursed the whole Order between coughs and struggled to tell Jenka about it. Her grandfather had worn the red robes and was a renowned inventor of things arcane. The Order, at least in her eyes, had once been noble. Lanxe and his cronies had destroyed everything. The Order of Dou, and anything good for which it stood, was nothing more than a memory. These things pained her deeply, but Jenka didn’t understand it, nor did he try.

Mysterian and her witches had all but taken over Clover’s castle. They were brewing, and reading, and bewitching everything around them. They had forbidden Marcherion to get out of bed. His dragon wasn’t much better off, but the rest of the wyrms were healing from the battle well enough, even Crystal.

The only good news, other than Zahrellion not being a captive anymore, was that Mysterian and her brood had confiscated many of the journals detailing the past experiments performed on the Sarax. The witches kept the gist of what they found to themselves, but the grim nature of it seeped out in the way they looked at each other and went quiet when the subject came up.

Aikira and Rikky flew over the Outlands and on discovery flights over the foothills around the keep and the ruined Temple of Dou. The few people who remained there were locked in as tight as a drum. Mysterian was supposed to fly to Avlron with Aikira soon. As soon as they finished brewing potions for Herald, they were going to try and find the rest of the witches who left Mainsted by ship.

“Something’s coming!” Rikky shouted down from the top of the spiral stairway in the rotunda. “I think it’s a witch-wolf!”

This had Jenka fighting his aching bones to go see for himself. Luckily, Mysterian had shown him and the other Dragoneers how to activate several magical portal openings that they hadn’t known existed before. Clover’s castle was far more than Jenka could have imagined it to be. Jenka touched a silver Dragoneer symbol mounted on a stone on the wall, and all of the heat was sucked out of the den he was in. The upper half of the outer wall disappeared, revealing a gorgeous view of the snow-covered valley below.

From the rotunda, Jenka’s healing ears heard Rikky’s peg-leg clop-clop-clopping down the spiral stair and then across the marble floor. Jenka was reserved about leaning out and looking down. Being that the top half of the wall had just vanished, he didn’t want to chance leaning on the bottom half.

“Do you see it?” Rikky came into the den in a rush of excitement and huffing breath. Aikira was right behind him.

“Where?” Jenka asked.

“Coming out of the canyon across from where the ogres are building.”

Jenka saw it then, a lone witch-wolf, longer and grayer than any natural wolf he’d ever seen. It was loping toward the castle with speed and purpose.

Lemmy was as cold as he had ever been. He’d buried himself in a snow burrow when he spotted a band of trolls and a few goblins coming toward him. The steepness of the valley he was traversing didn’t allow for anything else. He hadn’t figured the beasts would make camp there for the night.

He was waiting for full dark, when the trellkin would be sleeping in knotted groups in snow burrows just like his. At the moment they were still carousing and carrying on. He hoped he could make it a while longer. He needed to survive so that he could tell the Dragoneers, or at least the witches, what he’d seen.

He’d fled the Sarax after the battle at the temple and made his way to Kingsmen’s Keep. Ranging out from there, he befriended an ogre whose parent was collared by the druids. On one trek, into the deeper mountains a few days east of the Temple of Dou, they found a valley full of cocoons; some of them were empty, but some weren’t. With the help of some other ogres they found two more similar valleys. They tried setting them afire, but the stuff wouldn’t burn in the snow.

It seemed that the ivory-antlered trollish things were crawling out of cocoons all over the place. Over the weeks that passed, Lemmy saw that hundreds of them had already emerged and fortified themselves. They were each gathering trolls, goblins, and orcs into bands, just like Gravelbone had done.

It made sense to him. All the Sarax that had escaped the star ship had fed and were now cocooning. The ones that were emerging might have been cocooned for centuries. Soon the Sarax swarms that had escaped would be morphing. By the time winter passed the threat might no longer be the terrible aliens, but the antler-headed trolls and the bands they quickly took command of. The Sarax were worse, of course, but the pupae drew in vermin, and thus were a viable threat of a different sort.

There were many ogres ready to rid the land of the otherworldly things, but only with the help of the witches and the Dragoneers could they prevail.

Finally, the chattering goblins and arguing trolls were silent for a while. Lemmy felt confident enough to dig himself out of the snow burrow. He clenched a dagger in his trembling right hand as he broke the surface and peeked out. He saw nothing but white and relaxed. He took his time creeping away from the area, even though he was dying to feel a fire’s warmth.