Brigsne did not know who the two young men that walked with open arms and euphoric expressions into the armory ahead of the pup were. But there was no mistaking the features common to the men of Arabarb enjoying their first taste of manhood. And there was also no mistaking the characteristic glint of slavish devotion that typified the mage's pets. The spear he'd readied to throw lowered in his hands as he gaped in horror. Soldiers of Calephas he would kill without the slightest hesitation. His own people made slaves by magic were a different matter altogether.
"Ture's apprentices!" One of the local men of the Resistance cried in frustration. "Damn you, Gmork!"
Luvig was hunkered down between the rows of weapons next to the Innkeeper from Vaar, trying to sort through the broken earthenware jars in his knapsack for one that he could hurl at the ceiling. Maybe the powder would fall on them faster than the magical wind thrust it back stinging in their faces. Already two of the Lutins and one of the men were seared by the white powder brushing against their flesh. Brigsne was about to reach for Luvig to draw him further back into the confines of the armory when something unexpected happened.
The two young men advancing before the pup stopped and blinked in bewilderment. Even the pup seemed stunned by something that they alone knew. His jaw hung slack and his tongue dangled out the right side of his mouth like a farmer's dog watching birds fly overhead.
And then, a fierce light filled his blue eyes, swelling them a brilliant yellow. His naked tail grew lush with dark fur, and he jabbed his arms forward, thrusting the two young men off balance. They stumbled into the nearest racks of weapons and offered the men of Arabarb and the Blood Harrow Lutins a clear view of the pup.
Brigsne lifted his spear again, but the pup let loose with a single ball of flame that darted up into the air, and then shot down like a hailstone into Luvig's knapsack. The contents erupted in a geyser of liquid flame in the young man's face and arms. He screamed as his flesh seared off and his hair sizzled and caught fire. The pup turned and ran down the hall, disappearing almost immediately around a corner.
Brigsne kicked the knapsack aside and yanked Luvig to the ground. He writhed and screamed, trying to cover his face with his already blackening arms. One of the other men threw Brigsne an old tapestry that had been folded up and stashed in one of the corners. The Innkeeper wasted no time pressing this down over the burning man's upper body and holding it in place. The fumes from the burning knapsack were making him nauseous and the scent of the yellow powder strewn about the armory returned as soon as the wind spell vanished.
"Get out!" Brigsne shouted. "Everyone out!"
"What about the weapons?" One of the others asked.
"Grab what you can as you run!" He snapped even as he grabbed the still squirming Luvig under the arms and dragged him away from the incendiary knapsack. The flames were leaping up along the nearest weapon rack and a vicious black smoke was beginning to curdle at the ceiling.
The Lutins were quick to leave, filing out into the hall and then toward the bailey courtyard. The two apprentices were still in shock but they were helped out by the other six men while Brigsne hauled Luvig. The tapestry wrapped about his upper body was charred but it seemed to have stopped the fire.
Once they were out into the hall, Brigsne slammed the door to the armory shut and swore loudly. He lifted the tapestry off the man and swore again. Luvig's face was covered in black and nasty red and white welts, and half of his hair had been burned off. One of his ears was a melted lump, and his eyes were pressed tightly shut; there was no way to know whether he'd ever be able to see again.
His arms were even worse; both hands were ruins with bone peeking through charred flesh along his fingers and palms. His forearms had shriveled up to the elbows; his upper arms looked more like his face, covered with fiery welts that still looked hot. Luvig quivered and trembled, his breathing fast and shallow.
"We have to keep moving," Brigsne said after sucking down his bile. "There's no telling what it will take for that fire to go out." He slipped his arms beneath Luvig's legs and back and hoisted him as if he were a child. "And what of you two? What happened?"
The apprentices glanced at each other and their faces were a mix of rage and fear. "Gmork made us his slaves. But... suddenly it all went away."
"That has to be a good sign," one of the other men said as he hefted a pair of swords he'd taken from the armory.
"I hope so," Brigsne said, Luvig's body trembling against his chest. "Now where'd the Lutins go, and where should we go?"
"I think they went to the bailey," one of the local men said as he pointed down the corridor the Lutins had fled. "I've been in the castle before the Baron came. This way will take us to the battlement walls." He gestured to a set of stairs a short distance down the hall following the eastern wall. He then pointed to the hallway branching off to the west. "And the city gatehouse is this way."
"The gatehouse," Brigsne said. Behind them he could see black smoke curling out from the door frame. "And let's go."
They moved swiftly with their weapons in hand. Brigsne cast a worried glance behind them, hoping that Luvig's fire wouldn't burn stone.
One moment Lubec was cawing in anger and beating his wings against the inside of the sack and trying to peck at the horse's thigh as he bounced back and forth as they galloped through the woods. His fury at being kept a prisoner by the vile Resistance was like a flame coursing through his veins. He squawked promises of what his master would do to the man if he didn't let the Cormorant go and make amends for his transgressions. The rest of the time he tried to claw his way out with his webbed feet and pointed beak.
The next moment he felt a vast emptiness within himself and all around followed by a clear litany of memory stretching back all of his years. How well he could remember the terror in his heart as the monster had snatched his will word by word and turned him into a traitor to his home, to the people of Arabarb, and most especially to his brothers. He cawed in horror at what he had very nearly done and beat his forehead against the horse's flanks as the bag bounced up and down.
"Oh, forgive me, Eli! Forgive me! I didn't mean to do any of it!" He tried to screech more but his voice descended into a series of cawing sobs that wracked his whole body. He shook from tail tip to beak, black feathers rumpling into a horrid mess. All he could think of were his two brothers lowering their necks into Gmork's jaws as he had only moments ago yearned for.
After a minute or two the horse slowed and Lubec was able to catch his breath again. Once they stopped, the rider jumped off and took the satchel with bound bird and set it down on a mossy rock. "What did you say?"
"I'm not that evil monster's slave anymore," Lubec cawed hopefully, his voice strained with the agony of two months of terrible memories. "I'm free!"
The rider wasn't so easily convinced and it took another few minutes of painful questions digging into the terrible things that Lubec had done for Gmork in the last two months before the sack was finally opened and the black Cormorant was able to stretch his wings in the light of day.
The rider, an older man with long graying beard and a keen eye if showing signs of age, watched him closely but did not threaten him any further. Lubec preened his feathers until he felt everything where it should be. "They've all gone to Fjellvidden haven't they?"
"Aye," the rider replied as he glanced over his shoulder. "But if you're free... that must be good news."
"I have to find out if my brothers are okay," Lubec announced, as he glanced up at the trees to find a place he could fly through to reach the sky. "Can you take me somewhere with a little more sky? I'm still sore from being in the sack."
The rider nodded and helped him onto the back of the horse. "There's a clearing a few minutes back this way. I'm going to Fjellvidden too. If you see them let them know I'm coming."
Lubec sighed and held on as best he could as they trotted through the clustering pine and fir. He prayed fervently, something he had not done in two months, for his brothers, for Pharcellus and for Lindsey, and for his own soul.
Gmork's youngest snarled and snapped at the handful of human guards who were running about the castle like crazed chickens searching for their eggs. They all ran from him when they saw him bounding through the castle halls, his claws leaving gouges behind in the stone as he rushed past. His body moved so quickly though that most of those guards couldn't run away fast enough and yelped when they felt his fangs whisper past their flesh.
He was not going to actually bite any of them, but they were not going to be in his way either.
The warm light of day washed across him as he emerged onto the battlements. The bailey below was a scene of chaos as fire leaped through the windows of the armory charring the roof and walls black, while soldiers grabbed what they could and ran out through the gates to the city. It looked like the Lutins were chasing them out, but they disappeared like mice back into the castle at the other end of the bailey from the armory.
Gmork's youngest noted these things within a heartbeat, for his attention was never truly on them. Instead, he rushed headlong toward the battlements overlooking the city. Laying in a puddle of fresh blood still pooling and flowing was the decapitated body of his father. Two of Calephas's soldiers were standing nearby, chuckling to themselves as they stabbed the corpse with their spears.
Their laughs turned to screams when they saw the pup vaulting across the open space separating the bailey wall from the battlements. The nearest lifted his spear to block him, but Gmork's youngest swept his arms down in a V-shape. The concussive force shattered the spear down its middle, and knocked both men against the outer wall.
He landed on heavy paws just beyond his father's body. His jaws quivered with a chest-rattling growl as he grabbed both men by their mail shirts, lifted them off their feet, and hurled them out over the river. They screamed and tumbled end over end before finally splashing and being swept under by the current.
There were no others on the battlements to contest him, so Gmork's youngest knelt down next to the body and gently smoothed out the matted fur along his father's back where it had been disturbed by those vile spears. With delicate care, he turned his father's body over and arranged the arms over his chest, fur-coated and clawed hands resting one atop the other as if in peaceful slumber. He then straightened his father's legs and tail so that they were also in a spirit of repose.
His golden eyes swept over the body, gasping in agony at the severed neck wound. Gmork's youngest settled down on his haunches next to him and away from the blood now sliding down through one of the nearby drains along the outer wall. After a long breath and a wordless prayer he tilted back his head, opened his beastly snout and howled in anguish and bitterest misery.
Yajgaj had already had one close call when the pup bounded past him racing faster than dragons flew. He'd ducked into a side passage at just the right moment and waited until he was sure the pup had fled before resuming his own flight back down into the heart of the castle. He had to reach Calephas before that monster could escape.
But just as he was about to descend the long staircase down to the hall with the laboratory, he heard the sound of many footsteps and heavy claws and a husky grunting breath that startled him. Yajgaj shoved himself into a curtained alcove and stood completely still within the shadowed interior. Very familiar voices cried out encouragement to another person.
"Very good, Lhindesaeg," Alfwig said with a warm regard. "You're starting to look like Pharcellus."
"I'm starting to feel nauseous," a heavy yet light voice echoed back. "These steps are too narrow for my paws."
"You're doing fine," Elizabaeg counseled, her voice only slightly hesitant.
Yajgaj held his breath as he heard and saw three pairs of booted feet pass. He caught a brief glimpse of the scraggly Alfwig and the haggard Elizabaeg accompanied by the worried looking Gwythyr. Yajgaj's fist tightened around the sack with Gmork's head.
Following after them was a small dragon, covered in gray scales with red coloring along the edges of the ridges along his back and outlining a scintillating mixture of scales across his body. The pattern reminded him strongly of Pharcellus. Was this what had become of Lindsey?
Yajgaj closed his eyes and waited. Their words reverberated through his ears and he allowed their voices to fill him one last time. But once they all reached the landing, their pace quickened and soon they were out of earshot. Yajgaj listened to them until even the clacking of the dragon's claws were gone.
Gritting his teeth and wrapping one hand around the bone knife that had severed the beast's head, he slipped out of the alcove and flew down the stairs toward Calephas's laboratory. He hoped there was something left to find. Those three would never have left if the Baron were still alive down there. What had happened to him?
Jarl breathed a heavy sigh as he nearly slumped against Ture. The tanner was nursing a wounded arm but he and Eivind had otherwise come through the battle mostly unscathed. With the sudden chaos and dissension in the army, Gerhard and the horsemen had wheeled about and routed through them, splintering their ranks into a dozen smaller groups. And for one brief moment he wasn't near the fighting.
"This way," Eivind suggested, pointing to a side alley that had cleared out when two of the tundra men and their dogs had chased the frightened soldiers away. "We can get behind them."
Jarl and Ture followed their companion down the alley at a careful but hurried pace. The battle could easily turn against them at any moment if they allowed the soldiers to regroup and form ranks again. Whatever had caused the pups to flee and the sudden madness of some of their own could not be counted on to last.
The alley opened onto a larger thoroughfare where the soldiers were trying to gather. They were attempting to form into columns with spearmen and swordsmen, but the wings of their line kept getting dragged into squabbles with the tundra men and their dogs. And one other group that Jarl had long hoped for.
From down the street ran several men of Fjellvidden, shouting at the top of their lungs and swinging clubs, hammers, whatever else they could find at the soldiers. Their voices ricocheted through the streets, faces bright and purple with an indignation kept bottled up for months.
"The mage is dead! We're free of him! Death to Calephas! Death!"
Ture gasped and pointed at one red-faced screamer. "That's Vysterag! He's the one who betrayed us."
"Could that be why the pups ran?" Jarl asked with a sudden smile. "Could the mage really be dead?"
"Let's hope so!" Eivind grunted as he lunged into the fray. Jarl and Ture were at his side a moment later, while the soldiers of Calephas jabbed with their spears, slashed with their swords, and vainly attempted to survive.
Lindsey was very grateful that his new dragon body came equipped with a superior sense of smell in addition to being relatively small. With the former he was easily able to follow Jerome's trail through the halls of the castle. And with the latter he could comfortably fit through those halls, and also out onto the battlements where they found his friend howling in anguish.
His father and mother, who had helped him climb the stairs when his hands and feet proved too big to grip the steps, paused at the walk at the top of the bailey, while Gwythyr shrank back several paces. Lindsey winnowed his way forward, slithering his long body between Alfwig and Elizabaeg, alone unafraid of the weeping pup.
"Gmork is dead. His... father. I will stay with him," he said softly, finding his long pointed tongue and serrated fangs more comfortable now. He turned his head back on his long neck and nodded to them both. "I can keep him from... doing anything else. Oh!"
In the distance beyond his father and mother and even beyond the soldier he could see the slope of the declivity and the bridge across the Arabas. At the northern end was a very familiar dragon surveying the burning remnants of the Lutin encampment that had once kept the bridge secure. Lindsey almost stretched his wings in delight, but kept them restrained. He wanted to jump into the air and fly to his older brother and give him the good news while capering through the sky with reckless abandon.
Only he still didn't know how to fly.
"Pharcellus!" he boomed in delight. Both Alfwig and Elizabaeg turned, and his father laughed lightly under his breath. The distant gray dragon craned his neck but couldn't quite see them through the haze of smoke he'd created in his fiery enthusiasm. Nevertheless, he waved one forelimb and returned to making sure that nothing of the Lutins remained.
"Look!" Gwythyr shouted, pointing down across the bailey at the eastern wall. "The armory is on fire!" The building he gestured to was connected to the interior of the castle but separate with narrow windows overlooking the courtyard before the gate. A foul black smoke billowed from those windows.
"That's Luvig's fire," Elizabaeg said, leaning forward to grasp the stony crenelation with both hands. "Gwythyr, do you keep sand in the castle?"
"Some," the soldier admitted. "Not enough to smother a fire."
"Then wine. Do you have wine?"
He snorted. "Calephas paid sea scavengers handsomely for it. He had stock enough for years."
Elizabaeg nodded with a grim set to her cheeks. "That should work. Show us where they are. We have to put that fire out."
Gwythyr blinked and snorted in disbelief. "With wine?"
"Aye! It is the one thing Luvig said would work. Hurry!" She turned and put one hand on Lindsey's scaled tail and smiled faintly to him. "Be safe, son." She then followed after Gwythyr who retreated back within the castle proper.
Alfwig touched him on the side and nodded toward the howling pup. "You take care of your friend. He seemed a very good man in the little time I knew him."
"I will," Lindsey assured his father before Alfwig quickly followed the others back into the castle. Lindsey swept his neck back around to look at his friend. Jerome sat on his haunches looking very nearly a true wolf as he howled. But his arms were too stocky with long, clawed fingers that spoke of his human ancestry; the rest was wolf.
The new dragon child slunk along the battlements but slowed his approach as he came around to the western wall. There he could more clearly see Gmork's body laid in dignified repose with paws crossed over his chest much the way Followers were prepared for burial. He had to resist the impulse to snarl or smile. The relief he felt was immense, but tempered by his friend's inexplicable sorrow.
He stepped forward tentatively, his long tail brushing against the stone corner behind him as he moved. Lindsey noted the way his friend's body heaved with sobs between each mournful lupine cry. How could anyone feel so much sorrow for one so evil as Gmork? And why did he suddenly feel guilty because he didn't feel that sorrow?
When his snout was only a few feet from Jerome's back, the pup lowered his head and, trembled through his entire body, and then sighed in resignation. "Hail, Lindsey."
"Hail, Jerome," he replied as he took another step closer, lowering his back half to the stone even while his neck remained low to the ground. "I'm here."
The wolf snout retracted some into Jerome's face, the fur thinning to reveal familiar sun-baked cheeks. "You don't need to worry about me."
Lindsey flicked his tongue once and glanced down at the headless body. His wings wanted to spread in alarm as memories of those terrible few minutes he endured in the mage's presence; how well he could remember seeing the harmless shepherd Strom beg to have his intestines torn from his flesh and devoured. He quailed as he recollected Lubec trying to decide which of his brothers he'd rather have Gmork eat first.
And still, he loved his friend enough to say, "I'm sorry you lost someone you love."
Jerome's eyes and ears twitched at that, and his tail drew even closer to his haunches. He lifted one hand and stroked it very gently across Gmork's lifeless hands. "I know... I know he is a monster and that he did terrible things to me."
Lindsey blinked and in his surprise scraped his claws against the stone as he inched closer. "You do?"
"I saw it. I saw it in my Calm. When I went there, everything became clear and I knew what had happened to me and what my father had done to me. He locked me in chains, berated me, taunted me, twisted my mind, starved me, and then gave me food he told me was the flesh of men. When I wouldn't eat it he'd starve me even more. And then he would invade me, controlling my Sondeck in a way not even another Sondecki could do. He..." Jerome closed his eyes and pressed one hand to his head as if he were shoving his snout back into his face.
When he lowered it, his jowls almost looked flush like human lips. "He twisted it so that I had to become more like him to use it. He made me want to be a beast, Lindsey. I... I have eaten man flesh. And... and I liked it. I... I am still a beast. And... I still love him. Knowing all that, I love him dearly and can think of him in no other way but as my father. I know he isn't, but... he is. Lindsey, I am still Gmork's son, even though I know what he really is. Whatever he's done to me, I... I don't know how to undo it. And a part of me doesn't want to. I am a beast!"
Lindsey crouched closer and reached out to touch his friend, stretching his arm across Gmork's corpse. "But, you are free now, my friend You don't have to be that way anymore. He's dead now. Surely you can be a man again."
Jerome shook his head and sighed, the snout stretching back out from his face, golden eyes lifting to meet the dragon with bitter sorrow. "You don't understand, Lindsey. This body may be dead, but... my father is still alive."
One moment, Gmork's eldest was standing behind the tanner's two apprentices as they moved before him into the armory. He delighted in the wails of frustration he heard from the Resistance at seeing their own precede the lupine mage. His jowls creased in a ravenous grin.
And then he remembered who he was. His name was Cabalan. Born in Marigund, his magical talents had opened the doors of the vaunted mage guild and there he'd studied from the time of his youth until shortly past his majority. His instructor, a curiously eccentric young man named Massenet had taught him many simple tricks, but nothing of any consequence. For ten years he labored in vain, begging to be taught the more powerful incantations and for ten years Cabalan had been stymied by a wizard who preferred puffing on a pipe and amusing himself with assigning dreary and uninteresting work far beneath his talent.
It all ended the night Cabalan broke into one of the vaults and stole a quartet of magical scrolls. He had been planning to steal even more, but a horrid premonition warned him that in another moment he would be discovered. So he took his prizes and fled Marigund, riding hard along the ancient roads north and west. He couldn't rest for more than a few hours because agents of the guild were hunting him down. The budding mage couldn't even take the time to master the incantations contained in his precious scrolls.
But fortune favored him and he heard news of a wizard far to the north who prized power and crushed all those who would oppose him. Cabalan knew that this wizard would see his talent and instruct him in the arts as the fools in Marigund ought to have done. Already this powerful wizard had conquered a vast region of the Giantdowns. Soon his reach might even encompass his home city. How Cabalan would have enjoyed being able to show Master Massenet just what he was truly capable of.
He had made it to Nasoj's realm, and there he was able to master all four of the scrolls, including one of his favorite incantations, that of summoning a giant ball of fire to consume his enemies. But there were so many wizards surrounding Nasoj that Cabalan was not able to study under him as he had hoped.
Instead he'd been sent to help Baron Calephas crush the people of Arabarb, and it was there he had remained. There was magical lore to study in that land, but after nine years languishing in that frozen wasteland filled with barbarous ruffians, contenting himself only in that he could take what women he desired when he desired them, the offer that the wolf mage Gmork made to him, the offer of true power, was simply irresistible.
He had fed well and tasted true dominion over men. But until that moment he had not remembered his name or truly who he was. He blinked and twitched his naked tail as all of that came rushing back to him, followed closely by a font of power from his father. It was not just the knowledge his father had attained, but the very mantle of fatherhood itself. Cabalan felt it settle into his spirit like an elegant cloak over his shoulders and a brilliant breastplate resplendent with the moon's light over his chest. He would be the father now.
But, Cabalan was aware in that infinitesimal moment, that to use the knowledge pouring into him, he needed to accept as a mere act of will all of that power and the mantle of fatherhood. He needed to accept and surrender to it if it were to be fully manifested within him.
Cabalan's choice was an easy one. After a lifetime spent seeking more power, he would never turn the power of his father away. He accepted it.
And that was Cabalan's final act of will.
Gmork blinked through what had a moment before been the eyes of his eldest pup. The transition to a new body was always awkward for a moment and it was especially so when he found himself face to face with a mob of fiendish men and Lutins intent on killing him. He flexed his power, changing the color of his eyes to gold once again, and sprouting fur along his tail. He would not tolerate such affectations that his previous eldest had favored for himself.
But he knew now what his eldest had known of these Resistance in the armory. The Lutins had let them in and the alchemist was the scrawny one reaching into his knapsack. The air spell was clearly the proper choice to keep the explosive powders at bay. Gmork would have to make sure they could never make more of it.
He pushed the two apprentices who had only moments before been his loyal pets but now were their own masters again into the armory ahead of him and then summoned a small ball of flame. While the humans nearest him struggled to help the suddenly coherent apprentices to their feet, he guided that ball through the air until it was directly over the knapsack. His jowls lifted in bitter rage as he drove the fire straight down into the sack of shattered jars. The detonation and plume of flame engulfed the center of the room, including the alchemist's face.
That would have to be enough.
Gmork spun on his paws and bolted down the corridor. The body still felt a little strange, but that would pass in a few minutes. He stretched his jaws and spread wide his fingers as he ran on his hind legs, getting the feel for them both. At least his eldest had been a hearty and strong man, and a prodigious hunter as a wolf. What little adjustments he always made to his homes would be sufficient for this one.
But it should not have come to this! Gmork snarled at the air as he ran, furious with the traitorous Yajgaj, and even more furious with himself. He should have been more careful around the Lutins; Calephas had been a fool thrice over to have entrusted them with so much of their defense.
And now not only were they taking the castle, but they took it on behalf of the Resistance! What should have been the end for those few humans who dared to oppose Gmork's will was now their ascendancy. With the death of his old body, every one of his pets had been released from his mastery. Gmork had no allies left in Arabarb but his surviving pups. Each of them would have felt the moment of death like a knife in their belly. He could only hope that they were all able to make their escape from Fjellvidden.
But before Gmork could leave, he had one last thing he needed to do. He vaulted up the steps and through the empty, decaying halls in the northern wing of the castle until he came to the sealed door of his Listening Room. A quick swipe of a claw undid his magical lock, and another opened the door to reveal stacks and stacks of dull brass baubles, all their fire extinguished, and a boy cowering in the corner with wide eyes and trembling arms.
Gmork lowered to a crouch and held his hands out toward the boy. His voice was gentle but firm. "It is I, your father. We must leave this place, my little one. It is not safe for us here anymore."
The boy shook his head and pressed against the corner of the wall. "You.. you are... you are not my father!"
Gmork frowned and made a quick gesture with one paw. The boy gasped for breath, and then his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell forward. The wolf mage caught him in his arms and very carefully laid him down on the hay. What little hold he'd started to build in this boy had been shattered by his previous body's death. It would not take long to reclaim this child for his own, but it would take more time than he could spare here.
Beneath the rumpled bundles of hay and hides, he produced a small leather knapsack that he could sling over his shoulder and carry with him even as a full wolf. He swept the baubles from their shelves with his left arm, pouring them into the sack which he held open with his right. They clinked and clanked with a faint tintinnabulation as they swelled the sack with their weight.
He did not let a single bauble escape, making sure that every one of them was secure in his sack before sealing it tight and drawing runes along the edges to make sure that none of them would fall out during his run. He scanned the shelves one last time to make sure that he hadn't missed any of them, then he slung the sack over his head and shoulders, letting them bounce against his thigh. In his other arm he scooped the boy, and hoisted him up high. He turned his head and gently licked the boy's face, a fluttering growl echoing in his belly as he thought of that other wizard who he would not be able to bring into his family.
Gmork closed the door behind him, and then moved swiftly down the hall to where the dragon had destroyed the wall in his escape. The shimmering field of energy still protected that section of wall, and through it Gmork could see to the eastern sward and the forest beyond.
He waved his paw and the field disappeared; the stone above him groaned in protest but held. The wolf mage bent into a crouch and leaped into the open air, gliding swiftly with his magic to the ground. He began to run even before his paws touched the hard earth.
To his left beyond the bridge the dragon was finishing off the last of the Lutins. He snorted, nostrils clenching in distaste. He would never spare one of those filthy creatures again. At least the dragon was doing something useful.
Gmork barked in surprise as from out of the woods three man-shaped hunting dogs bounded, brandishing stones and makeshift wooden clubs. His surprise turned to a laugh. While clutching the boy with his left hand, he swept out the right and bowled all of them over with a burst of wind. "You don't want to become my pets again do you?"
But he did not linger to hear their answer. While the Keeper dogs picked themselves up, Gmork dashed into the safety of the forest and kept running, bounding on three paws between trees, over hillocks, and through the brush, putting as much distance between himself and the castle as he could. Out of the corner of his golden eyes he noted the unconscious bobbing head of the boy. He sighed and growled between bounds, "It will be safe soon, my pup. You are with your father."
It was clear from the condition of the laboratory that Calephas had already attempted his escape. Yajgaj cursed his ill-fortune all the way down to the secret dock beneath the castle, where he felt a surge of relief on seeing the smashed iron door and the yawl still tied to the stone wharf. The Lutin gingerly climbed onto the deck, Gmork's severed head bouncing lightly against his back.
He was drawn immediately to the smear of blood on the deck and the smoldering hole burned through the wood near the fo'c'sle. Standing upright, he jabbed the point of his knife with his long arm at the edge of the hole and chipped more of the ruined wood free. He wasn't sure what made this hole but, judging by the number of layers below it before reaching the hull, there was no danger of the yawl sinking anytime soon.
The Lutin turned to the smear of blood, bent over slightly and tasted it. Somewhat human he noted. His yellow eyes lifted to the gunwale and the anchor chain wrapped about it. That was certainly odd. He sheathed his knife and, bracing his thick feet and stout legs against the gunwale, heaved the chain up link by link. The muscles in his back and arms tensed with each link that clanked as it settled at his feet, while the finger bones around his neck rattled against each other.
After a minute of exertion, he could see there were two bodies tangled in the chain and his thick lips spread into a grin around his tusks. Another half minute of heaving and he could see Calephas's head bobbing on his neck, while the tiger Weaker's fangs were buried in his neck. Yajgaj grabbed the dead Baron's belt and hauled them over the gunwale. He then hefted the anchor and nearly toppled over from its weight. He set it down far from the hole and then took a moment to catch his breath, eyes never leaving the Baron's body, already showing pock marks where the fish had chosen to feast.
How many long years had he hoped to see this vile man dead? His first attempt over a year past had sought to deliver him to justice. That had failed. Since becoming Blood Harrow, he'd sought to find an opportunity to kill the Baron any way he could. In a way, he was glad that it had been one of the Baron's slaves that had finally brought an end to the odious pederast. He just wished he could have seen it happen.
Yajgaj pried the tiger's jaws out of the man's neck, and then sawed Calephas's head off. It only took a few strokes before the pallid head rolled free, eyes wide open in shock as death had surprised him. He grabbed the man's hair and lifted the head up so he could stare into his face for a moment. Yajgaj pressed his fingers against Calephas's face, pressing the cheeks into a hideous smile, then shifting them down into a grotesque frown. He snorted a laugh and then shoved the head into the sack next to Gmork's.
The Lutin finally, after nearly a year masquerading as one of Calephas's loyal Lutin foot-soldiers, had what he came for. He opened one of the pouches at his side and carefully removed a folded and slightly crumpled bit of parchment. He'd worked on it for two months now and was grateful that he was finally able to leave it behind. Taking the hides draping his mottled, green legs, he dried one of Calephas's hands and then pressed the fingers about the sealed letter until they were firm and tight.
There was nothing left for him to do. Yajgaj moved quickly and carefully back across the deck, hopped over the gunwale, and rushed back into the castle for one last time. Once Calephas's soldiers were dead and the castle belonged to the Resistance, his fellow Blood Harrow would gather at the eastern gate. He smiled around his tusks. It would be good for him to leave the company of humans behind again.
At some point, nearly every soldier from Calephas's army managed to mass in the main thoroughfare to try and march the Resistance to death. The three dozen that had already been cut down were mostly confined to the alleys and barricades and so were not visible to the great mass of citizenry that still tried to make Fjellvidden their home. And of the Resistance only twenty men remained to take up the fight. Gerhard and seven others were still mounted, but that left Jarl, Ture, Eivind, and nine of the men from the tundra with their half a dozen dogs on foot and two arctic birds flying through the air. Joined to them were a few of the soldiers who had turned against the Baron, and half a dozen other men of the city.
Against such odds, the disciplined forces of the Baron were certain to win the day.
But they didn't.
Screams and sounds of battle from within the castle echoed over the city. The castle gates opened and through them streamed defenders, their faces caricatures of fear. They did not rush to support the formation, but instead fled through the southeastern gates and kept running straight across the meadows and into the forests south of Fjellvidden.
On the northern bank of the river, a giant dragon appeared and from his throat bursts of flame consumed the Lutins who kept the bridge and killed any who tried to cross it.
And atop the battlements the frightful figure of Gmork disappeared, only to be joined not a minute later by one of his pups howling in freakish misery.
The army tried to march down on the Resistance, but their confidence was shaken, and their resolve stood on the edge of a knife. Jarl knew that look; he had seen it in the people of his fishing village every time the soldiers had come to collect the taxes and young men and women; the former to make soldiers of the Baron and corrupt with a life of bullying and abuse; those that would not serve in Arabarb were shipped through the pass and given to Nasoj's armies where fear of the wizard and his minions would drive them to obedience. The women were taken for the beds of those that did serve, and also to inspire them to feel helpless. If they could not protect their women or their children, then they were not truly men.
But now that look of fear was in the eyes of the Baron's army. Jarl felt a fiery indignation consume him and he skipped back from the line of soldiers and cupped his hands around his mouth to bellow. The words echoed through the air and made him feel as if he were striding atop the sky. "People of Fjellvidden! Arise and strike! The hour is now to take back our city and our castle! The great wyrms have come to aid us! Arise and take back your city! Jarl Thoronson, grandson of Thane Angulf Amundson commands you to take back your city!"
At first nothing happened. The fire in Jarl's heart for one moment was embittered with disgust at the people who had once sworn allegiance to his grandfather. But those words had caught the soldiers by surprise, and several of them hesitated in their march, helmets turning warily to the houses lining the streets, their shuttered windows seeming to glare down at them like disapproving gods.
And then a few seconds later, doors opened and browbeaten men emerged carrying pans, knives, brooms, oars, hand axes, and whatever else they could find. Only a handful at first, and then a dozen more, and then two dozen more emerged to challenge the army. The formation tightened fearfully, as Gerhard's stallion reared and he thrust his sword forward for another charge.
The thunder of hooves rushing toward them broke their spirit. The soldiers screamed and ran down the main road, and through the alley ways, seeking some avenue of escape as the people of Fjellvidden attacked with all nine years of captive ferocity. A dozen men went down beneath the horse's hooves, and another were captured and beaten to a bloody pulp by the people. Jarl could only watch and marvel as Calephas's army was routed and sent into full retreat.
He felt a pair of hands on his shoulders and saw the swarthy tanner Ture on his right, and the wiry hunter Eivind on his left. Ture's thick lips blubbered out the words as his eyes alighted upon him in shock and delight. "Are you really Jarl Thoronson, the Thane's grandson?"
Jarl smiled and nodded, clasping both him and Eivind in a firm embrace. "Aye! Aye, that I am! But I'm just a fisherman in Seydisfjord now. I have brothers and sisters there." He wasn't quite sure why he felt he had to say it, but he did.
Eivind laughed and patted him on the back. "Well, it sure is good to know you survived. Come, let's make sure none of these soldiers get out of here alive, then we can toast our victory in your grandfather's castle!"
Jarl laughed too, and the three of them together rushed back into what remained of the fray. The soldiers fled before them as Gerhard's horses and the people of Fjellvidden drove them out.
Gmork's youngest pup shifted back on his haunches and lifted his eyes from his father's corpse to the small dragon stretched out along the battlement wall like a lizard sunning himself on a rock. Though he knew this young dragon was his dear friend Lindsey, a man for whose life he would have gladly given his own, there was still an instinctual distrust and fear of dragons that he'd inherited from his father. He didn't understand why but he knew that it was real and he had to resist the urge to snap at his friend.
The dragon was saying something, but his heart was so heavy he hadn't heard the words. "What did you say?" he eventually asked, as a faint acrid odor began to tickle his nostrils.
The dragon's tongue licked the air in apparent alarm and he hissed, "Gmork's still alive? But... he has no head."
"I know his spirit lingers," the pup replied with a long sigh. "My eldest brother is... well... he is my father now I think. I... don't know how, Lindsey. I just... I just know that he is. But..." he nodded toward the body with his snout and licked his nose to try and get rid of the irritating smoky scent. "But I still know this was my father too."
"Please, Jerome. Don't go back to him. Maybe..." the dragon scratched his claws at the stone and he lifted his head a little higher off the ground until his neck curled into an 'S' shape like a bird's. "Maybe our friends at Metamor can help. Jessica can do remarkable things now. She might be able to make you a man again."
Gmork's youngest closed his eyes and trembled. Being a man again meant that he would be turning his back on his father. It meant that he would be rejecting him; betraying him. Even though his father was a monster who wanted him to commit terrible evils and to destroy lives that were inconvenient to him, that simple notion made him feel like the blackest of sinners. It made him feel like Yahshua's betrayer.
"Maybe," was all he could force himself to say to such a repugnant suggestion. But the thought of becoming a true monster like his father wanted was even worse.
"Your friends will be there. Charles may be able to help too."
His jowls quivered at the thought of his fellow Sondecki, and he knew that he would like to see him again. The rat at least would understand. He always had been understanding of others. "I would like that," he managed to say as his hands stroked down his father's fur-coated arms. "I would."
Lindsey turned his head to stare down across the bailey and his tail lashed back and forth in agitation. The dragon swung his neck around and his brilliant eyes gleamed in the midday light. "Jerome, there's a terrible fire down in the armory. Could you help us put it out? I know you can do that. Please? It will help convince the others that you aren't a monster."
Gmork's youngest lifted his snout and peered over the edge of the crenelation at the armory, noting the smoke trailing from its windows. So that was the source of the acrid stench. It reminded him of that horrible powder the Resistance smashed in his face. He felt a growl of delight at the thought of those men burning with their own weapon.
But when he looked at the dragon, though his features were strange, Gmork's youngest could not mistake the sincerity of his plea. The growl descended into a sigh and he felt his snout withdrawing back into a more human face. "I will help. But... if anything happens..." He stroked his father's body chest fur one last time and then rose to a mostly human pose. "Let's go, Lindsey."
The dragon nodded his long head and then curled back around on himself in order to head back down into the castle. Gmork's youngest followed him with only one backward glance at the precious corpse.
Yajgaj was grateful that he did not run into any of the human soldiers or the Resistance as he raced through the castle to the eastern gate. The sack of heads bounced at his side, but did not hamper his pace. And his heart fluttered with relief when he saw the other dozen and a half members of the Blood Harrow tribe assembled waiting for him in the narrow hall just within the gate to the eastern declivity and woods.
He noted as soon as he arrived amongst his brother Lutins that two of them were bandaged over their arms and faces. Yajgaj looked to Khilaj who met his questioning stare with a crooked glare. "The funny powder humans made; that pup blew it in their faces. They live."
"But scarred," Yajgaj finished with a brutal grimace. He hefted the satchel with one hand and his lips curled back over his sharp teeth and tusks. "Wolf mage and baron both dead. Time to go home."
Khilaj and the other Lutins all smiled and jostled a little closer toward the barred gates. But Yajgaj's second shook his head after a moment and gestured to those doors. "One of the pups went east. Wolf mage may be dead, but... they still dangerous."
Yajgaj grunted and slung the sack back over his shoulders. The heads bounced on his back with a satisfying thump. "We go south first then. Humans want us gone. I want to be gone." And then with growing conviction he added, "I want to be with rest of tribe. We not stay here any longer."
The other Lutin's all grinned in hearty agreement. They had spent far too long away from the rest of their tribe and now that their enemies were dead, each of them felt the instinctual longing for the companionship of their own kind. For a true Blood Harrow, only the company of other Blood Harrow could truly satisfy and bring comfort in the midst of the sufferings common to life.
"Then we go south first," Khilaj agreed. "Weapons. Pups still out there."
All of the Lutins drew their weapons, knives and staves, as well as slings and a couple short bows. Yajgaj kept one of his bone knives, the one that had severed the heads of Gmork and Calephas, in his right hand while his left secured the sack. No matter came to pass he could not afford to lose those heads; they were his promised price to the Blood Harrow elders.
Khilaj opened the gates and immediately half a dozen Lutins fanned out onto the empty sward before jumping up the slope toward the road to the bridge and beyond to the woods. Yajgaj and the rest were quick to follow them, the two injured Lutins keeping to the middle but still holding their weapons like any proud warrior. In time they would boast of their scars and their valor in attaining them.
But as they reached the road, from out of thew woods ran three dogs standing on two legs. They bore no clothing, but even so, it was obvious from their shorter more colorful fur and their floppy ears that these were not Gmork's pups. Rather, Yajgaj knew that these must be the Keeper dogs that the wolf mage had kept in the kennels. His fellow Lutins turned their bows and spears to face them, each eager to claim a new pelt for themselves from a hated Keeper.
"No!" Yajgaj shouted as he stepped forward, brandishing his knife and snarling at his fellow Blood Harrow. "Leave Keepers be! We not at war with them." He then turned and bared his tusks at the dogs who were still rushing toward them from down the sward. "You three dogs will die if you fight us! We not want to fight you. War with Gmork over. You run back to castle and seek Lindsey. He's a Keeper too! Go, run dogs!"
The dogs snarled at him as they came to a stop, holding their clubs aloft. The nearest and largest of them barked in fierce anger, "We aren't going to let servants of the Baron get away with their lives! Filthy Lutins!"
Yajgaj laughed and swung the sack over his shoulder. "The Baron? This baron?" He grabbed Calephas's head by the hair and hoisted him up for the three dogs to see. Behind him he could hear the tension tightening on one a bowstring. Stupid dogs. Didn't they understand he was trying to save their lives?
The three Keepers stared in shock as they beheld the severed head. The first whined and said, "You... you killed him? Why?"
Yajgaj stuffed the head back in the sack and closed it up again. "He was both our enemies. We leave Arabarb now to you humans. Either get out of our way, or I let my brothers take your hides to warm their children." And judging by the thickness of their coats they would do very well to keep many Blood Harrow children warm during the bitter and long winter nights. And their beastly skulls would look very imposing atop their pinions.
The dogs looked at each other once, before with low growls and whines they lowered their makeshift clubs and started moving down the slope toward the castle, keeping an even distance between themselves and the Lutins. Yajgaj nodded approvingly. "Lindsey in the castle. He's a dragon, but he will help you." The glared at him once more before turning and running toward the open eastern gate.
Khilaj stepped up behind him and asked in a low grunt, "Why you let them go. They had good pelts."
Yajgaj pointed to the forest in the south. "Because Blood Harrow don't need war with Metamor." He waved his knife in the air and started to jog. "Come!"
The Lutins fell into a steady loping pace behind him as they crossed the declivity at an angle to the south. Within a minute they disappeared within the sheltering confines of the forest. Fjellvidden and their last year there was now things of the past.
He just hoped they didn't run into any of the pups along the way.
Baron Calephas didn't just keep bottles of wine; apart from the nearly fifty bottles that Elizabaeg counted in the late baron's larder, there were also three heavy barrels for distilling and fermenting that were full. There were too many bottles to carry all at once, but the barrels they could roll through the halls so long as they took extra care on the steps. Between her, Alfwig, and Gwythyr they managed to bring all three barrels down to the same floor as the armory within short order.
Once done, with Gwythyr leading the way, they rolled the barrels with their hands down the halls until they came to the armory. The oaken door was shut but smoke was curling out around the edges and the odor was painful to their noses and made their eyes water and sting.
But before they could reach the door, two familiar figures bounded down out of the hallway in front of them. The young dragon with gray and red scales took up a large portion of the hallway, and almost burped flame when he saw them rolling the barrels toward them. "Father, Mother!" Lindsey gasped as he bunched his neck back as far as it would go, his claws gouging the stone beneath him. His wings tried to spread but he aught them in time and folded them tightly against his back. "We've come to help."
Behind him walked the pup named Jerome in a remarkably human guise. Apart from the wolf ears and a somewhat flatter nose, his face was completely human, the broad foreign face that Alfwig had seen many times in the last month whenever Gmork had come the dungeon to visit his acquisition. His tail wagged once when he saw them but he didn't say anything.
"This wine should stop the fires," Elizabaeg said as she patted her barrel. "We just need to get it in there."
The pup looked at the barrels, glanced over at the door with smoke curling around its edges, and grunted. He leaned forward, his arms sprouting a silvery, black pelt as they lifted over his head. Lindsey awkwardly tried to move backward to get out of his way, large golden eyes even larger as he stared at his friend. Jerome flung his arms forward and a loud boom echoed through the hall. The stout oaken door was torn from its hinges and split in half as it flew back into the armory. A wave of heat rushed across them as the hall was limned by brilliant orange light, the flames leaping up along the racks of weapons and armor; ordinary fire through most of the chamber, but a plume of nuclear yellow at the center rising a mere four feet scalded their eyes.
The three humans shielded their eyes with their arms, while Lindsey curled his neck to stare back at them. The pup closed his eyes and stepped forward toward the inferno. He was still a dozen paces and the fur on his arms, legs, and tail began to sizzle at its ends. He lifted his arms above his head and threw them forward again and again. The flames lapping the walls like licentious tongues bent backward under the force of those blows, trembling beneath the powerful gusts of wind, before leaping back up into the air to greedily consume the wood and to try to eat the stone walls.
Jerome stepped forward another pace and flung his arms forward again, his lips moving and a song rushing forth from his lungs. The melody twisted and turned with such simple grace that the three humans could not help but feel a serenity dwell in them. The flames buckled with each blast of air until those nearest the door finally surrendered and winked out into charcoal black lumps.
But the spire of fierce heat that was the progeny of Luvig's powder continued to scream its fury. Jerome turned and walked back, still with his eyes shut tight, took the nearest of the barrels from Gwythyr, and rolled it forward and turned it on its side so that it could actually fit through the doorway. With a quick shove he sent the barrel like a stone from a sling into the armory. It bounced off the wreckage of one of the shelves and spun. Jerome threw yet another punch, and the wood splintered, splashing and streaming the fermenting wine across the room.
The wine and fire squealed and loud and piercing cry that made Jerome's ears fold back and his face scrunch into a painful wince. But that plume of light did falter and fade, no longer blasting the armory ceiling like a furnace. The pup raced back to grab the second wine barrel and he did the same thing with this one. Even before waiting for the hiss, he took that last from Alfwig's hands and flung it into the room, bursting the barrel right next to what was left of the powder fire.
To their surprise and relief, the flames consuming the armory dwindled to smoldering ruin and were no more dangerous than a fresh bed of hot coals. Jerome turned and shook his body from head to paws, creating a cloud of black dots of burned fur. He panted a moment even though his face was no more beastly than before. He blinked open his yellow eyes and smiled ever so slightly. "Well, the fire's under control. The air is bad in there. I wouldn't go in."
His head then jerked on his neck as if it had been tugged by a marionette's string. He bolted back up the hallway and stairs. Lindsey gasped and craned his neck after him, before turning back to the humans. "I have to follow him. I'm sorry."
"Go!" Elizabaeg said, waving her hands at her draconic son. "Go save your friend."
Lindsey's long body turned about in the corridor and he leaped on all four of his legs after the pup. Once both of them were gone, Gwythyr breathed a long sigh of relief. "I guess we should get something to finish putting out the last of the flame."
"Let's get the wine bottles," Alfwig suggested with a gruff sigh. "Give the room time to air out."
Elizabaeg looked one last time where her son the dragon had gone before turning to follow her husband back to the late baron's larder.