Gmork's eldest was able to keep the alchemist from dousing him with the foul smelling powder by using a simple wind spell, but it did nothing to stop the Resistance and their Lutin allies from lobbing axes and knives at him. And so he hunched behind the door frame, showing his face for brief moments to launch fiery volleys toward the irritating natives then hiding himself again before they could skewer him with a well-thrown blade.
He'd managed to count eight humans in this band, which meant there was at least one more loose in the castle. The eldest liked listening to his father's pets, and even when he rested he allowed their sweet words to percolate in his ears. Those nine in the forest must have sneaked in just after they'd left the Listening room. Ill-timing that that they could not afford.
But once either his brother or his father arrived, these few degenerates would be easily dispatched. They had nowhere to go and while they had a gluttonous supply of arms, they could do nothing with them.
He watched in amusement as one of the jars exploded just outside the doorway. The yellow powder and the smoldering white particles mixed in smeared across the floor before being grabbed by the wind spell and thrust back inside the armory. He could hear one of them gagging in horror at the stench and he bark a laughed. That was the third time now they'd attempted to get their little bottles past his wind spell, but that spell was an easy thing to expand and contract like an old spring.
His ears turned when he heard the sound of feet running toward him from down the hall. He readied another spell, but a moment later he saw who it was and knew there was no need. The older apprentices they'd captured at the tanners dashed as fast as they could, and their faces broke into almost euphoric delight when they saw him.
"Your brother told us to come help you fight the Resistance," the blond-haired one said with breathless anticipation as they came to a stop just outside of view from the armory door. He beckoned them closer, and gestured to the left side of the hall with his claws.
"Very good of him. What of Calephas?"
"Your brother is chasing him and the tiger," the black-haired one replied after catching his breath. "What can we do?"
Gmork's eldest gestured to the armory door with his thumb claw. "The Resistance is in there. Go before me and block any weapons they might throw. I will burn them to the ground and then there will be no more Resistance or treacherous Lutins in all of Arabarb." It was an exaggeration, but it would make them even more eager to cast their lives away knowing that they did it for Gmork.
And it did. The eyes of the two young men brightened eagerly and they moved into the open doorway with their arms outstretched. The eldest followed them, grinning so as to reveal his fangs, flaming bolts filling his paws. The Resistance lifted their weapons, but gasped when they saw who it was. They took another step inside, the wind howling around them in delicious triumph.
Pharcellus still felt sore all over by the time the six Lutins marched him into their camp at the northern end of the eastern bridge. A road continuing north through rolling hills coated with pine and fir was now lined with numerous little huts of animals skins, wood, and bone. The nearest trees had been chopped clean of all their lower branches, but he noted that only the trees closest to the bridge had actually been chopped down. Grim looking hunters lurked around the center of the camp which featured a trio of fires, including one where a deer was roasting.
In the distance they could all hear the sounds of battle in the city and while they couldn't see anything past the castle, the turn in the river, and the declivity on the southern bank, many of the warriors were clustered along the bank trying to get a look at the fight. Pharcellus wondered just what was happening but the sounds were too indistinct to make clear. He thought he heard the sound of his friends the sea birds squawking, but that could have just been his hopeful nature getting the better of him.
One of the Lutins jabbed him behind the knee with the sharp end of the spear. He winced and buckled forward on his knees. "You tell us what you do in woods," he said with a raucous, dirty laugh. "We cook you like deer if you don't."
Three of the guards who'd brought him began rubbing their tummies and licking their long tusks, long ears twitching as their evil yellow eyes looked him up and down. Some of the hunters and warriors looked up from their tasks to watch them, but otherwise paid them no mind. Pharcellus looked at them very carefully for any signs of children but saw none.
"I was trying to get back here to save my friends," Pharcellus replied. "They are being held captive by Baron Calephas and Gmork. Would you like to help me?"
The Lutins laughed and he felt the wooden end of the spear jab into his back. He fell to his hands and smiled even as the leader of the little scouting band mocked him again. "Stupid man. At least you have good muscle. Make vittles out of you."
"Cooking?" Pharcellus said with an even wider grin with sharpening teeth. "I'll provide the fire."
The Lutins continued laughing for a few seconds more. Then they started screaming.
Lindsey wanted to help Jerome come back to his senses, but he could tell that the poison was not going to give him much more time to live. But no matter how he tried to touch his mother's spell with his will, it seemed to slip out of his grasp. He could grip like Jessica and Kayla had described, and even draw it out a few inches from beneath the Curse's shroud, but then it would melt through his fingers like putty and slip away. It even seemed to hide further out of view so that it became more and more difficult to even find.
These few times he was able to touch the spell were interrupted by long and longer tattoos of anguish pounding in his skull and threatening to erupt from his bowels. He heaved several times but only brought up rancid spittle for his efforts. His veins felt like they were on fire and yet despite the warmth of Jerome's robe, he shivered as if he'd been abandoned in the snow.
Jerome sang a little song to him at the back of his canine throat. It was soothing even if he didn't know the words. It also seemed familiar to him and it was only after he had finished its long, winding melody and started over again that the boy recognized it. It was the Song of the Sondeck, something he had heard Charles and Jerome sing to each other while trying to find their calm.
He almost cried when the idea came. He tried to swallow and clear his throat, but that only made him cough. His tongue felt heavy and thick. Lindsey forced it to work. "Jerome... your calm. Find your... your calm."
Jerome stopped singing and licked his black nose. He'd let his face distend into a snout again, something that Lindsey would have objected to had he the energy. "My calm? Oh yes. But I should keep watch over you. I'll find my calm soon. I promise. It's too dangerous now to be distracted."
Lindsey grunted and lifted his eyes to stare at the beastly visage of his friend. He'd never been as close to him as Charles or even James had become, but after nearly six months of travel together, fighting for each other's lives against odds so terrible that he could scarcely believe that they'd actually won, it was impossible not to care deeply. He wasn't going to let Jerome fall back into Gmork's paws so long as he still drew breath.
"Please... do it... for me."
Jerome looked clearly pained and his snout pulled back into his face. He leaned away a moment, tail tucking between his legs. Lindsey noted that there were scratch marks along his chest and thighs as the fur there thinned. They didn't look like they'd been made by a wolf either and he knew they hadn't been there two months ago. But he had no time to wonder about that. He kept his gaze fixed on his friend's golden eyes, eyes tormented by the thought of abandoning a friend. "You... can't protect me... unless you are calm. Please."
"But..." Jerome whined and lowered his ears. "I'll try. But I'm not leaving your side."
"I.. don't want... you to."
Jerome nodded and settled back on his haunches, sitting with his hands planted in front of him as if they were paws. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, remaining in a beastly posture though his upper body was mostly human in guise. Lindsey trembled beside him as he fought the pain, the drumming in his head reverberating through his ears and down his chest. It only seemed to get louder.
Beside him, Jerome stirred and rose into a crouch. "Someone is coming," he said and began to growl as his snout pressed out, fangs glistening with fresh spittle.
Lindsey took several shallow breaths and realized that the pounding was not just in his head. Somebody dressed in armor was running down the hall. He looked up just as the figure approached with sword drawn and stepped through the portal. His heart leaped and he cried, "Father!"
Alfwig stood in the doorway in leather armor with sword in right hand and dagger in his left. He lifted both blades in a familiar fighting stance and glowered at Jerome. "Get back from my boy, beast."
Jerome growled and put one paw on Lindsey's back. "I will not let you hurt him!"
"Jerome, no!" Lindsey gasped, as he used what little strength he had to push himself up off his hands and knees. The world swam as he did so and it took all his meager strength to keep from falling back down. "This is my father!"
Jerome blinked and then stopped growling. He lowered his head and blinked golden eyes at him. "I know you. You were the man in the dungeons."
Alfwig stared at Lindsey and then at the pup and finally began to nod. "You were the one Gmork was training. What are you doing here? Didn't Gmork make you his own?"
Jerome growled a bit, but stopped himself. "Don't speak of my father that way! Lindsey was poisoned, he needs help. My father will save him."
Alfwig spat on the ground and took a step into the laboratory. He glanced at Lindsey but kept his eyes and his blades pointed toward the wolf-like beast. "Where is Calephas?"
"Dead," Jerome replied. "Drowned in the river with his slave."
Alfwig spat again, and a smile briefly flashed across his cheeks before his worried frown returned. "Lhindesaeg, what did he give you?"
Lindsey trembled and had to fall back to his hands and knees. "Arsenic. He... said... that unless..." he coughed and fell face first onto the ground. "Father..."
Alfwig did not move. "I'm here."
He took another quick breath and squeezed the words past his lips, "Unless mother's spell... keeping... me human is gone... I'll die. As dragon I'll live."
His father's face was stolid through the unkempt beard, though his eyes were soft. Still, his grip on his blades never wavered, nor did his regard for Jerome. Gmork's pup no longer hovered protectively over Lindsey's back, but he did meet those blades with a narrowed, suspicious gaze. That slight distraction kept him from understanding what his son meant for several long seconds. But telling the tale last night brought it back before Lindsey succumbed to another fit of coughing. "The spell cast to make you human? The one your true mother placed on you when you were first hatched? If its removed you'll become a dragon?"
Lindsey nodded slightly. At his side he felt Jerome flinch. Under his breath the pup muttered, "Father doesn't like dragons."
"Your father," Alfwig sneered as he spoke the word, "is not here." He stepped closer. "Now get back. This is my son."
Jerome's jowls twitched but he did take a few steps back, crouching on hands and feet, both of which looked more like paws. His tail pulled close to his legs but not quite between. Lindsey glanced at him and coughed again, "Find... your calm!" His jowls flecked a bit but he did close his eyes again and turned his ears back.
He felt Alfwig's firm hands, hardened by calluses, rest on his back. He gently lifted the Sondecki robes from Lindsey's back and set it aside on the stone floor. "Your mother did tell me," he said in a soft voice, "how to remove the spell if ever I needed to. If ever you asked me to."
Lindsey smiled faintly and then clutched his sides tightly when another wave of misery swept across every pore of his flesh. He jabbed his tongue against the back of his teeth to keep from biting it. Between pounding blasts like knife thrusts between his ears he managed to squeeze a single word, "Please!"
His father took a long deep breath and then knelt down beside him. He kept his sword pointed toward Jerome, but sheathed the knife and set his hand on top of Lindsey's sweat streaked hair. "I love you, Lhindesaeg. Focus on breathing. I never wanted to say these words, but I could never forget them either."
His voice sank into a chant-like tone, bereft of rhythm but seeming to echo with each syllable. Lindsey breathed, listening to the words, his eyes kept shut to everything to keep the vertigo at bay.
"With these my words I now revoke,
The spell that lady dragon spoke,
To human shape the body latch,
On she from dragon egg did hatch."Return daughter mine, my words command,"
Jerome began to growl and he said, "Two humans are coming,"
Lindsey opened his eyes and saw that his father was scowling at his friend, but he did draw his dagger again and move to stand just inside the laboratory door where he wouldn't be seen. Jerome crouched closer to the boy, stretching a furry arm across his back protectively. Whatever the incantation was supposed to do, Lindsey felt nothing but the sickness spreading through his body.
But he could hear a pair of booted feet running down the hall, rudimentary leather armor rubbing and rasping with each step. Lindsey wasn't sure who he hoped it was. If they were Resistance, Jerome might lose what little self-control he had and try to kill them out of the twisted mental control that Gmork had over him. If they were Calephas's soldiers then Alfwig might be fatally wounded by them and Jerome still might lose his self-control. At least they were wearing boots; that meant it wasn't Gmork. There would be no hope for any of them if that beastly mage were to appear. Lindsey and his father would be slaughtered and Jerome would never be free from that monster.
Who it really was he never would have guessed.
When the young man and older woman stepped through, it was not her voice that rang out first, but Alfwig's, wretched and starving. "Elizabaeg!" He stepped forward, blades still in hand and wrapped his arms about her, rubbing his face against hers. She gasped in surprise and held him close, her voice catching unintelligibly.
Jerome continued to growl but he didn't move from where he crouched next to Lindsey. The man who came in with his mother and who was dressed as a soldier of Calephas gasped and jumped to the side, nearly bumping into the long worktable as his eyes went wild with fright. "A pup! Get away from that boy!"
"No!" Alfwig snapped, reaching out one arm toward the familiar-looking soldier, his unkempt face white. "Leave him be! He is not to be touched."
Jerome's golden eyes narrowed and he growled at the soldier, jowls lifting to reveal sharp fangs. "I'll eat you."
Lindsey gasped in agony but the words still came. "Jerome! Calm!"
The pup's growl faded as he crouched lower against himself and closed his eyes again, tail tucked low. The soldier stared at him with trembling arm as he looked between Alfwig, the pup, and Lindsey. "What is going on here?"
"Aye, what," Elizabaeg said with a tremble in her voice. "Gwythyr, stand guard outside for now." The soldier frowned but did as he was told, casting a wary glance at the pup. Jerome's eyes were closed and his face still and almost peaceful. Once the soldier was gone, Elizbaeg's anxious eyes passed between her husband and her son. "Alfwig, you, I thought you were dead. And Lhindesaeg. What's wrong?"
"Poison," Alfwig told his wife as he gently put his hands on hers and stepped back from her. "A poison that is killing him. Calephas gave it to him before he fled. He's dead now. I'll tell you later. But I can save Lhindesaeg. It... will turn him into a dragon... forever."
Elizabaeg's face flashed through fear, anguish, anger, a hundred other minor shades of each, before settling onto weariness and sorrow. "Is there no other way?"
He shook his head and held her hands in his own. "No. You knew this might come. I hoped it wouldn't but it has. Let me save him."
Elizabaeg stepped out of her husband's embrace and then knelt down next to Lindsey, not even paying any mind to the wolf-like man crouching at the boy's side and murmuring insensible words to himself. She stretched out one hand and pushed her son's hair back over his ears and then kissed his forehead. "I love you, my little boy. My son. I'll love you no matter what you are. I always have."
Lindsey tried to smile but fell into a trembling fit. Elizabaeg kissed him one more time and then stepped back a pace. Alfwig kissed her on the cheek and then knelt beside Lindsey again. He took a breath and began to chant.
"With these my words I now revoke,
The spell that lady dragon spoke,
To human shape the body latch,
On she from dragon egg did hatch!
"Return daughter mine, my words command,
To the body thy life began,
Dragon and man thy sires dost be,
What was dragon return to thee!
The spell is undone, vanish now,
Thy heritage from high come down,
I give thee back, sweet daughter mine,
Give thee to thy mother from high!"
The words came to an end, and Lindsey could see that golden glow hiding beneath the Curse flare into such brilliance that for a moment all of the pain he felt was gone. The spell swelled with light, piercing the Curse and Jessica's spell. Brighter, brighter, and brighter it grew until the very sun was a pale shadow in a world of pure radiance. It flared brighter even than the titanic explosion that consumed Marzac. And then like a multitude of startled butterflies it dispersed into nothing.
Lindsey opened his eyes as he felt a gentle warmth coalesce his childish body. The agony remained from the poison, but it, like everything else, seemed to grow smaller. With each breath he took his lungs and chest expanded, but they did not shrink again. He recalled that horrible night when the Marquis had transformed him into a kangaroo and the way his flesh had molded to that evil man's whims. It had been painful and unnatural. This was neither.
He felt as if he had just removed a full suit of armor and he was stretching out on a nice fur rug in front of a pleasant fire while drinking wine. Everything in him relaxed and stretched out, his shape distending only because it had been cramped. Lindsey savored the transformation with a sigh of long-withheld relief.
Both Alfwig and Elizabaeg took a step back as Lindsey's neck stretched away from his shoulders, face distending into a crocodilian snout, while a pair of white horns sprouted from behind his ears. Those ears stretched backward like fish fins as his face and neck decorated themselves with smooth scales, gray in hue with the lightest of vermillion chiaroscuro at each edge. His tongue stretched with his jaws, teeth curving into sharp fangs and lips dwindling into reptilian fixture. Lindsey stretched his jaws and flared his nostrils as if drawing breath for the first time.
His arms and legs swelled, shifting in proportion until his knees lifted from the floor and clawed hands and feet lifted his body up into a comfortable quadrupedal stance. His claws were tough and dark, good for gripping stone and chewing earth. His fingers he noted were long and flexible, with usable thumbs like Pharcellus had. His thighs were thick and powerful, good for leaping and driving himself into the air.
From his backside sprouted a long tail that flowed with his body, lined with a ridge decorated in that same vermillion hue, and ending in a spade-like fin as wide as both his hands together. It felt natural to him and moved back and forth gently as he shifted from side to side to observe what had become of himself. This was followed by the growth from his back of two slender wings, thick leather folds of flesh that nestled against his back like a sheltering awning. He thought to stretch them out, but decided against it in so small a room as the laboratory.
The changes took only moments and when they were over, where before had been a ten year old boy now crouched a gray-scaled dragon, very youthful in appearance and size. He was longer from nose to tail-tip than his height as a man but only just. And standing on all fours, unless he lifted his head on his neck or rose up on his haunches, his eyes were now even lower to the ground than when he'd been a boy.
"Lhindesaeg?" Elizabaeg asked with one hand to her mouth and her eyes uncertainly passing along his new length. Alfwig's face was locked in stoic regard and no words passed his lips.
"It's me, Mother." At least that is what he tried to say. His tongue felt strange to him and the words came out distorted and jumbled. More slowly, he focused on each syllable and framed the words with his new tongue, throat and jaws. "It's me, Mother. I'm... a dragon."
"Aye," she said, bending over to cup his jaw in her hand and to gingerly move her fingers across his brow. Lindsey felt her touch, though his scaly hide was not nearly as sensitive as human flesh. "How are you feeling? Is the poison still..."
To his great relief the agony coursing through his body was already beginning to abate as if the Arsenic could not abide being inside a dragon. The pounding in his head fell away with each moment until it was a sullen throbbing like a vast army marching away into the distance. His stomach still complained, but now it was more the lack of food than the nausea.
For once Calephas had told the truth; turning into a dragon had saved his life.
"I'm better," he said in his slow halting way. He would need time and practice to teach himself to speak as fluently as he had before. Certainly it was possible - his older brother Pharcellus never suffered from an uncooperative tongue. "It worked. The pain... is... reef... reef... leaving."
"Can you move? We don't want to stay here," Alfwig asked. His father shifted to his right side and ran one hand down his son's back just beneath his wing. "And what of your friend?"
Lindsey craned his neck to his left to look at Jerome. The Sondecki crouched on his haunches like a wolf, but his arms and upper body were mostly human in guise. Without his garments the old scratch marks along his chest, arms, and cheeks were clearly visible. They weren't from any beast that Lindsey could discern. But despite those wounds his face was placid and relaxed, long triangular ears drooped as if in slumber.
The new dragon had seen both Charles and Jerome reaching for their Calm many times on the journey to Marzac and on the journey home to Metamor. Charles had even explained to him why Sondeckis would seek this place in themselves that they called their Calm. There they could find the balance of emotion, the clarity of thought, and the mastery of the magic that ravaged their bodies with a rage uncontrollable and fatal otherwise. It was not meditation in the religious sense, but it was just as necessary.
And even with all that Gmork must have done to Jerome to make him into a pup and to make him see and love Gmork as a father as he so clearly did, it was also clear that Lindsey's friend could still reach his Calm.
"Jerome. He'll have to stay with me." Lindsey lifted his legs one at a time, both fore and rear, as he spoke to try and become familiar with how they moved. He'd never been four-footed before and while whatever draconic heritage he had made it feel natural it also felt completely new. "He may hurt anyone else if... if I'm not there. If he goes back to the mage..."
Alfwig frowned and nodded, putting a gentle hand on Elizabaeg's shoulder. She leaned into the touch while her eyes roved slowly across her son's alien shape. "The mage brought him to the dungeons with me three, four, five weeks ago. I'm not sure how long it was. He'd visit him every day and talk to him for a few minutes to an hour or more. Your friend fought at first, but eventually he started growing ears and fur like the other pups."
He lowered his eyes and swallowed. "The last few days he's been trying to get him to eat the flesh of men. And last night he brought down the body of one of his pups who'd been slain. Jerome snapped and I thought he'd become one of that mage's pups for good." Alfwig paused as if he had more to say but wasn't sure whether or not it was wise to say. "I'm glad I was wrong."
He turned to his wife and smile, somewhat bemused and tired, "And you, my Elizabaeg, how many did you bring into the castle?"
"Nine of us," she said with a long sigh. "It's not much, but it was all we had. We should have the armory by now. They're going to need our help. But..." She stared at the dragon who gazed back at her with his newly vibrant crimson-flecked amber eyes. Lindsey tried to smile, but wasn't sure how exactly to do that with a draconic snout filled with sharp fangs. Pharcellus made it look so easy.
"You want to stay here," Alfwig said in a soft, gentle voice, "with our son."
She lowered her eyes and her neck tensed as her hand curled into a fist. "He isn't... my son."
"I am!" Lindsey almost shouted. It took him a moment to coordinate his limbs, but he did step close enough to her to put a forepaw against her leg. "I am your son. You raised me. You. I love you."
She trembled, but did reach out and stroke her fingers across his scaly cheek, curling them up around his fin-like ears, and to the pearly horns that pointed straight back from his head. "I love you, too... son."
Alfwig patted him on the side and then stood. "We cannot stay here. Calephas may be dead, but..." he eyed Jerome and then said nothing more. "But we need to help the Resistance and we need to get the both of you somewhere safe. Can you walk?"
Jerome turned his head to one side and shifted about on his legs again. After a lifetime of being two-footed, he just had to admit that he didn't know how to make his limbs work right. "I can. But it's going to take getting used to." He glanced up at the walls and the table with potions, and then back at the broken chains. A hiss escaped his throat. "But I do want out of this room."
Elizabaeg was quick to stand and move toward the door, Alfwig at her side and his sword in hand. "What of your friend?"
Lindsey looked at the mostly-human Jerome and sighed. The Sondecki looked completely placid and relaxed, his lupine ears not even turning at the sound of their voices or their steps. The new dragon turned his tongue, finding it easier already to form his words, "I'll wake him and bid him to stay at my side."
But just as he reached out a hand to shake his friend's fur-coated thigh, Jerome's eyes popped open and his face contorted into a rictus of horror. A single barked word erupted from his throat, "Father!" And then, he bolted into the air over the dragon, his body twisting and coating itself anew in the silvery-black fur of the wolf, forepaws landing on the other side. His tail brushed across Lindsey's wing and then Jerome was through the open door like a bolt and off down the hall. The three humans and dragon stared dumbfounded.
"Oh no!" Lindsey cried as he tensed his leg muscles and jumped forward, finding his footing easier than he expected, but still awkward. "Help me follow him! We cannot lose him!"
Yajgaj had first gone to Gmork's listening room but the door was sealed against him. After many long months watching the mage and the Baron, he knew that the only time this room was magically sealed was when Gmork wasn't there. He would have to search for the mage, and the best place to do that was from the battlements.
He jumped up the stairs two at a time until he reached the eastern walls. Situated on the declivity they rose higher than the western walls affording him a good view of the entire castle and the land surrounding Fjellvidden. It took him only a moment to spot Gmork. The beastly mage was on the western battlements spewing fiery spells into the city. Yajgaj peered and saw a tangle of men and horses at Fjellvidden's western edge, but his eyes were not good enough to make out any details.
A sudden cacophony of Lutin screams behind him caught his ears and spun him on his feet. On the northern bank of the river near the bridge, he saw the dragon Pharcellus appear amidst the Lutin camps, spires of flame erupting from his jaws to roast the warriors. Thankfully none of them were Blood Harrow; that was one less chore he would have to tend to.
Still, he felt a vicious thrill fill him and with the little earthenware jar hidden in his left hand, he raced back down the steps to the next landing and crossed the bailey to the western battlements. Gmork had a gleeful, concentrated look to his snout and eyes as he constructed strange runes in the air, bolts of brilliant flame arcing into the town where they were met by short screams. The half a dozen soldiers who had been standing guard were all clustered to either end of the wall as far from the wolf mage as they could.
He touched the bone knife at his right hip and then rushed down the wall shouting and waving his right hand in the air behind him. "Master Gmork! Master Gmork! The dragon! The dragon is back!"
Gmork dispersed the rune he had begun to draw, his jowls curling in irritation and his ears lifted along either side of his beastly head. "What did you say, Lutin?" The contempt in his voice was plain but Yajgaj liked it when his kind were underestimated.
For his part, Yajgaj tried to act sufficiently alarmed. He waved his arm and gestured to the east. "The dragon! He's back and at the bridge killing my people!"
"He is?" Gmork's eyes flashed over the Lutin's head, although from where they stood the bridge was hidden behind the northeastern portion of the castle. The wolf mage turned his ears as the breeze rushed through his pepper-gray fur; and then his eyes widened in fury. He pushed past the Lutin striding quickly toward the eastern battlements.
Yajgaj grabbed his bone knife in his free hand, jumped into the air, and drove its long sickle-like blade squarely between Gmork's exposed shoulders.
Gmork begrudgingly admitted that the Resistance had courage and a certain degree of ingenuity. After he'd managed to disable the wood mage they had fled between the buildings at the southwestern edge of the city where Gmork could not see them. And if he could not see them, he could not properly aim his spells. But the soldiers had them pinned there and two of his pups would keep them within the city. They had only two choices, either be cut down in by the soldiers, or make a break for the western gate. Gmork truly hoped for the latter so that he could crush the handful with his spells.
It was not that he preferred to kill them himself; a dead man was dead no matter who landed the killing blow. But he felt more confidence that he'd be able to obtain that mage alive if it were his spells and not the indiscriminate swords in Calephas's army. So he launched an occasional bolt to help convince them that they couldn't stay back behind the buildings and in the alleys, but otherwise kept his attention on the gates far to the west.
The thought of having six pups was so delirious that the impertinent Lutin's interruption made him growl. At least until he heard what the foul little beast had to say. "He is?" he asked in alarm. The dragon's return could give courage to the Resistance and fear to the soldiers. If the battle turned against the soldiers, the people of Fjellvidden might find the last dregs of their courage and that was something he could not allow.
Gmork turned from the battlement and pushed past Yajgaj and started toward the higher northern ramparts to see the dragon for himself. A few more bolts of energy and spears of ice should be enough to finish that interloper off.
A sharp agony arrested him, and he spun on his paws with a bellow of rage, flinging the Lutin against the stone. His flesh erupted in fur from the tips of his ears to the long tail behind him, the expensive furs he draped over his body melding with him by sheer dint of magic. The Lutin braced himself against the wall, clutching his left arm as he tried to push himself to his feet.
Gmork reached behind him and yanked the blade form his flesh, blood pouring out before the wound closed itself up again. He turned the long, wicked knife over in his paws, glaring past it at the Lutin whose wide yellow eyes brimmed with hatred. "You little traitor," Grmok said as he dashed the knife against the wall where it shattered into a hundred tine fragments. "How long have you been waiting for that opportunity? How long..."
His ears turned at the sound of battle to his left and not just to his right. He did not take his eyes from the Lutin who had finally planted one foot beneath him and was pushing himself upright against the wall. The soldiers who were supposed to guard the battlements watched warily from a distance.
"You let the Resistance into the castle. Stupid. They're all going to die. As are your precious Blood Harrow." He flung one arm and a small bolt struck the Lutin in the chest, knocking him back to the ground. Not enough to kill, but he wasn't going to let this one die easily. The stab had hurt him! That could not be allowed.
The Lutin scowled at him as he scooted back a few paces along the wall before trying to get his feet under him again. A foul scent struck Gmork, and he noted a trail of familiar yellow crumbs decorating the edge of the outer wall. He twirled his claws in the air and deadened the Sulfur's gagging putrescence. "So you have some of that wonderful little powder the Resistance made. That's not going to help you either, Lutin. You..."
Gmork stared in delightful surprise at Yajgaj. The magic of the Blood Harrow elders was long rumored to be esoteric and he had long wished he could have studied it, but Lutin magic was closed to him. And it was also for all intents and purposes nearly invisible to him. But now, with his eyes given the focus and strength of the eagle, and his subject trembling before him, what was invisible now, though still subtle and easy to miss, was visible.
He barked a laugh and nodded his head, even as he allowed bright plumes of fire to balloon about his hands. "How interesting. And clever. You aren't really a Lutin after all."
Yajgaj didn't think a single knife to the back would be enough to kill Gmork, but he had expected the blow to have so weakened the mage that he'd have been able to finish him off with a few more quick strikes. Instead, he'd been flung against the wall while Gmork now towered over him with all his monstrous powers focused on him. The beast's face flecked with spittle, jaws snarling each and every word, yellowed fangs bared beneath quivering jowls, and golden eyes pulsing with unalloyed rage.
The first blow crushed the earthenware jar in his left hand, but he kept his fist tight around the remains, even as his palm and fingers began to sizzle with more ferocity than if he'd grabbed coals from a fresh fire. He scooted backward as quickly as he could, trying to decide what to do. Gmork advanced after him, staring intently at him and mocking his plans. Yajgaj trembled in fear when Gmork mentioned the Resistance in the castle. Either he stopped the mage now or they were all going to die.
But how? He had other knives at his side, and the powder burning his hand in the other, but the scent of the yellow powder was already gone because of Gmork's magic. What was there left?
And then, the mocking superior words of the wolf-like mage, who towered above him, more beast than man as he hunched forward with outstretched arms coated with flame, brought a fierce indignation into his heart. "You aren't really a Lutin after all."
Yajgaj, snarled about his tusks and grabbed one of his other knives in his right hand, legs tensing as he pushed himself up against the battlement wall. "Yes I am!" He flung his left hand forward, releasing the powder. Gmork spread his arms in a wall of fire with a barking laugh. The powder struck the flame and turned an unholy red and orange, pouring forth like a smear of oil across the beast's snout and face, burning and searing the fur and flesh. That liquid fire consumed Gmork's laugh into a howl of purest anguish.
Yajgaj got his feet beneath him as the beast tried to warp magical incantations in the air with his hands. The Lutin leaped forward with his right arm outstretched as his left reached for another dagger. Gmork's head dashed from side to side as the flames rode up his snout, across his cheeks and darted into his ears and melted his eyes. Yajgaj grabbed at Gmork's left side with one hand while the other drove the dagger up through Gmork's jaws, crunching bone and snapping his fangs shut.
As Gmork writhed and tried to reach for him, Yajgaj swung beneath his arm, feet digging at his thighs to give him leverage. He then drove the other dagger straight into the back of Gmork's neck, and with the force of his swing, sliced completely through the bone and flesh. The monstrous body twitched once and then fell forward to the stone. The flaming head bounced once to the side before coming to rest, the first bone knife jammed up to the hilt through his jaws.
Yajgaj stood gasping for breath as the smell of burnt flesh filled his nostrils. He couldn't afford to let the head burn completely, so he grabbed what was left of Gmork's furs and smothered the severed head with them. They sizzled and smoked for several long seconds, even as Yajgaj's left hand seared from where he'd gripped the powder. But the fire did go out.
The soldiers along the walls watched in horror for a moment, and then fled. Yajgaj stood up and looked at the body with a long-toothed smile. "I am a Lutin!" he declared, and then spat on the wolf-shape sprawled across the wall smearing blood everywhere.
Yajgaj bent down and picked up the wolf-head by the hilt of his dagger and was delighted to see that while most of the flesh had cooked over his snout and the front of his face, the rest of his head was still intact. He stashed it back within the furs and slung it over his shoulder. One head down.
Now he had to find that bastard Calephas and claim his second.
Quoddy thrust his wings back hard as he raced toward his brother. The half-second it took to reach the puffin felt an eternity in which he watched that arc of light stream through the sky with deadly accuracy. And then the birds collided and crashed into the gambled roof while the blast of energy scoured and blackened the wood behind them. They tumbled end over end until they were dumped back into the air over the heads of their friends in the Resistance. Quoddy spread his wings and bounced back into the sky, while Machias tumbled around once before finding his wings.
The gull glanced warily back at the field as he tried to turn to the west to find some avenue in which they could keep hidden. He expected to have to duck back beneath the awning of the nearest building to avoid another volley of crushing light. But instead he saw the two pups running toward the forest as fast as they could, their tails tucked between their legs.
Quoddy flew a little higher and stared at the marvelous sight for a few seconds before crowing his delight. "The pups are retreating! The pups are retreating!"
Amidst Calephas's soldiers, three of them suddenly began attacking those next to them shouting with glee, "Free! I'm free of that monster at last! Die you bastards!"
Gerhard, Jarl, and the rest turned in surprise as the army behind them fell into utter chaos. Machias and Quoddy cawed the pup's retreat again and again, not understanding it or the sudden changes, but they knew they could only be portents of very good tidings.
The Resistance slowly turned and struck back, savoring the change in fortune. Calephas's soldiers screamed and many threw down their weapons and ran. Those caught between tried to surrender but after nine years of subjugation, not a single man of Arabarb would have it. The birds wheeled higher and watched in relief as that anger, that hunger, found its relief at last.