Embrace the Fire (29 page)

Cedric waited until they'd pulled the cart in front of Ember. He braced himself for the words he knew he must say, but hated to. He disliked commanding any of the beasts to do anything, but most especially, he hated commanding Ember. The Dragon hated it, too, as he'd let him know the few times he'd done it previously.

He took a deep breath. “Ember,” he pointed to the cart. “Lie on the cart and pretend death.”

The Dragon froze, and then slowly, painfully lumbered forward. Strong resistance flowed through the Ember's thoughts; Cedric knew it would take several days of soothing treatment to get past this.

“I'm sorry,” he muttered as the Dragon collapsed across the cart, head tilted at an awkward angle on the cart's corner, tail dragging on the stone flooring. The scales slowly smoldered to ash-gray as the Dragon concentrated fully on quieting his flaming hide. Cedric wondered how long Ember could maintain the absence of fire; he felt the creature's strain.

“Are you all right, Ember?” Cedric asked quietly.

The Ember didn't acknowledge him with even a snort. He truly was pretending death—true to his obeisance, the blood of the Dragon strictly in covenant to its treaty with Aarkan the Firebringer. The body lay still, and it took all three of them, heaving with all their might, to pull the heavy Dragon down the corridor on the cart.

“Will the guards know who I am?” Ayden asked quietly, pulling his mantle farther over his face as their footsteps sounded along the stone corridor.

“Not these,” Cedric said. “They may have heard that there was a disturbance in the last training session, but you won't be recognized. If they ask, just tell them you're one of the newer Dimn.”

The first set of guards stood nearly half a fieldspan from Ember's den, and true to Cedric's command, the Dragon didn't stir. When they reached the set of doors, the guard greeted him with a nod. “Dragon-Master.” Cedric's insides flinched as they always did when he heard that name. “A dead Dragon?”

“It looks that way,” Cedric said.

The guard didn't ask anything else. He and his partner swung the gates open, and the three of them leaned forward on the ropes to pull Ember through.

“One down, one to go,” Cedric murmured to the others as soon as the doors had closed behind them. The boom sounded along the corridor. Cedric shuddered. He didn't like the sound of closing doors; it seemed so final.

They approached the second set of guards cautiously. Cedric was mindful that they were far from the other Dragons now, and only Ember could fight if called upon. None of them had weapons; Ayden had been stripped of his when he'd been locked in Ember's den.

Cedric drew to a halt as they came to the guarded door, giving the pull chain some slack over his shoulder. Ember's tension raced through his head, but a quick glance at the Dragon showed no sign of life.

“State your names.”

“Cedric, Dragon-Master and two assistants. One dead Dragon for disposal.”

The guards each walked all the way around the cart, checking for anything out of place. “Proceed, then.”

Cedric breathed a sigh of relief and waited as the two guards dragged the doors open.

Five spans stood between them and the open courtyard. Guards would be present on the walls, but their arrows would do little if they could lift off quickly enough. It would be close, but escape was far preferable to remaining prisoner within Erlane's palace walls.

“You two, go ahead,” Cedric said, his voice low. “I'll follow from behind. Ayden, be ready.”

Ayden nodded. Cedric tossed his chain onto the cart and stepped to one side as Ayden and Ashleen pulled the cart forward. From behind, Cedric pushed.

The dark open courtyard waited, and Cedric scanned the walls, searching the high windows for movement. The moon's light both helped and hurt their cause. Cedric's hair stood up on the back of his neck as possible disasters flashed through his mind.

Another few steps, and they would be in the clear night air with no roof or chains to hinder them.

Then came the moment he'd been dreading. “Halt! Who goes there?”

Cedric licked his lips. “Cedric, Dragon-Master; I have a dead Ember for disposal.” He told the lie because his lips had prepared it, but panic snapped along his spine. The guards were too close; they wouldn't be able to lift off in time.

Footsteps scuffed at the opposite end of the courtyard, and a man emerged, holding a torch high. Several more figures stood behind the man, their hands on swords. Suspicion glowed in the man's eyes. Cedric glanced at the walls above. More guards paced there.

“Who are the two you have with you?”

Cedric didn't have time to answer. Ayden's hands erupted into flame, and heat shattered outward from him in a wave that nearly knocked Cedric over. Around the courtyard, anything wood went up in fire—carts, support pillars, wagons. A pile of straw in one corner flared high and fast, and Ayden heaved the cart forward into the clear space. The arched opening into the courtyard burst into white-hot flames, and the cart slid the last few spans through a tunnel of fire.

Shouts rang out as the force of the heat tossed men backward like poppets.

“Go!” shouted Cedric. “Now!”

Ember no longer lay a passive heap on the cart; his scales flamed as he crouched in the middle of the courtyard, sending rivers of fire at any unlucky person who got in his way.

Ashleen grabbed one of his wings and swung herself up, helping Ayden to climb up as well.

“Cedric,” Ashleen called, her hand outstretched to him.

He ran toward the Dragon, so intent on swinging onto Ember's back that when the harsh impact hit his shoulder, he didn't at first recognize what had happened.

His knees folded beneath him as overwhelming weakness buckled his limbs. He saw Ashleen's eyes widen, panicked; he heard Ember's terror in his mind, watched Ayden crouch, ready to leap back down again.

“No, no! Go!” Cedric shouted.

Both Ayden and Ashleen shook their heads, so Cedric once again did what he hated to do more than anything.

“Ember! Take them out of here, now!”

And because Ember could not disobey the heir of Aarkan, his great wings unfurled, and like a flaming beacon, he lifted from the courtyard, past the battlements and the fruitless spears and arrows that tried to pierce his flesh and hurtled into the darkness of night, growing smaller and smaller until he was only a speck on the horizon, and then he vanished.

Cedric's shoulder was numb. He lay helplessly on the cold cobblestones, gasping. He lifted his uninjured arm to feel his wounded shoulder. A long, wooden projectile emerged from it.

He twisted to look. Sure enough, a bolt from a crossbow buried itself in his clothes. In his peripheral vision, people converged on him, their faces serious.

One face stood out from the rest; a face he had intended never to see again. He groaned.

“Greetings, Cedric.” Her musical voice lilted as she laughed at him. “It seems we meet again.”

“Lianna.” He felt drugged. Weakness spread through his arms and shoulders and up into his head. He had a hard time remembering why he was here. In the distance, he could feel the faint hint of pain; if he moved, even a little, those pain sensors would reveal themselves in startling clarity.

She bent over him, her white-blonde hair a silver aura around her head. “You are so foolish, Cedric, so quick to act.”

Cedric didn't answer. The effort would be pointless; he would not convince her of anything.

“What did you think you would gain, Cedric? You've bought your Dragon some time, but he's a hard one to hide—all that flame. When we bring him back here, and we will, Cedric, I'll assign you the place of honor at his dismemberment.”

Cedric did struggle then, his booted foot swinging out and contacting hard with her shin.

She gave a cry and withdrew a pace, and her expression changed from mockery to fury. “The Stars take it!” she shouted. “Cedric, I wanted to speak to you and you're not giving me a chance.”

Cedric groaned, lolling his head on the pavement, and closed his eyes. Hands lifted him and placed him on something hard, and they carried through the night air. He opened his eyelids as they wended through courtyards and corridors, tunnels and open spaces, gardens, and then indoors.

He recognized the room right away. He was in the apothecary's chambers; he'd been in here many times with Ashleen.

But she was gone now. Dimly, he thought he might miss her.

The hands lifted him off of his pallet and laid him down. The apothecary came in, carrying a basket of herbs. The whole place smelled of them. The scent tickled Cedric's nose.

Again, Lianna's face leaned over him, and this time, her hand touched his. “Cedric,” she began, but he stopped her.

“Lianna, you will never convince me to help you again. I don't even want to hear it.”

Her cheeks flushed, and her blue eyes flashed. “You don't have a choice, Dragon-Master.” He frowned, and she smiled her satisfaction. “You'll lie there for now, injured noble knight that you are, sacrificing yourself for your friends' freedom.”

Cedric closed his eyes, wishing she would go away. The apothecary gave him some leaves to chew. Cedric did so, not caring whether they offered him any relief from pain or not. No herb would mask the pain that would tear through him when the bolt came out from his shoulder.

When the pain
did
hit, it nearly sent him through the ceiling.

Lianna's hand squeezed his until his scream subsided. The apothecary set to work cleaning and bandaging the wound. Cedric struggled to free his hand from Lianna's, but she wouldn't let go.

She leaned close, her gaze intent on his. “Cedric, you wield powerful control over the Dragons. If there were anything this whole world over that you would want, something that I could get you, would you use your command of Dragons to help my uncle?”

Cedric pulled her closer, staring deep into her eyes. She wanted his answer; he could see the wish shimmering in her eyes. He smiled as he opened his own lips. “Lianna, no.”

Her face hardened, and she drew back. “Not even for a portion of my uncle's kingdom?”

Cedric's smile widened. “Not even for that.”

Her nostrils flared. “You aren't the only way to win this war, Cedric,” she snapped. “And you've just sealed your own fate with your answer.” She stormed from the room.

S
ebastian found
his army spread across the slopes, their tents dotting the ridges of the Marron Mountains overlooking ClarenVale. When Sebastian trailed past the creature cages along the perimeter and through the camp formations, he entered the Commanders' tent to find a very nervous Commander awaiting him.

Jerrus stepped back from the table where he'd been studying a map. “Your Grace! We had no word of your coming.” He glanced out the open tent flap. “Your protective flank?”

“Are traitors,” Sebastian growled. He was tired and sore. He'd taken leave of Lianna at the summit of one of the mountains, and oddly enough, he missed her. He'd forced her to submit to his passions, but as the day had lengthened, she'd grown supple beneath his hands, and had in the end parted from him with willing kisses of her own. “Where is Lanier?”

He had told Lianna that Lanier held the Amulet; he needed to tell Lanier to go along with the lie.

Jerrus shook his head. “He is to arrive shortly, Your Grace. I spoke to him last evening before the last bell.”

Jerrus returned his attention to the map, and Sebastian paced, glancing out the tent at ClarenVale, his mind churning. His irritation only increased with time.

The entire mountain range seemed to wait in anticipation. Sebastian's tents lined the hills and ridges for fieldspans on either side of ClarenVale. After Erlane's defeat on the Forgotten Plains of West Ashwynd, the Lismarian army had fled across the Channel and, despite some mild skirmishes on the western slopes of the Marron Mountains, they had retreated into the stronghold of ClarenVale.
What a coward
, Sebastian thought derisively. Erlane had the greater numbers; he could have taken a stand on the beaches of Lismaria, but instead of risking significant loss, he'd chosen to pull his forces back into the Lismarian capital.

Erlane thought his high city impenetrable. But Sebastian had plans to open ClarenVale's gates and take the city before reinforcements could arrive from the eastern reaches of Lismaria.

Sebastian cuffed his glove against a chair back before returning to the open tent flap, pursing his lips as he studied the distant castle.

“Do you think, Your Grace, that you can fully trust Commander Lanier?” Jerrus asked.

“What?” Sebastian bit out.

“Consider his reaction when you ordered his sister hung.” He tapped his fingers on the parchment before glancing up at Sebastian. “Word has it that his loyalty to his family was stronger than iron.”

Sebastian stared at Jerrus, but the man's thick mustache hid most of his expression. Sebastian shoved aside the tent flap and stalked up the hill toward Lanier's tent. It was buried in a copse of trees, and he could only see the front flaps of his Commander's tent.

The thought had occurred to Sebastian before; he'd tested his Commander's loyalty many times in the years of their friendship, but he'd never pushed so hard as the day he'd ordered Lanier's sister killed. However, Lanier had not wavered in continuing his leadership; his orders were still crisp and clear and always exactly what Sebastian wished.

Even so, it was time to confront Lanier, if only to prove Jerrus wrong.

The tent was empty. Sebastian glanced down at the Commanders' tent. Lanier should be nearly ready to attend the Commanders' meeting, but no sign of the man disturbed the hill, and the only movement among the lower shelters was the normal bustle of soldiers trudging between rows and moving up the hill to the creature cages to take care of their charges.

Sebastian entered Lanier's tent, glancing at the bedroll that spread on the neatly swept ground, the saddlebag in the corner. Curiosity sparked, and he moved toward it.

Rustling leaves some lengths behind the tent stilled his movements. Voices filtered through the canvas.

“Iolar. You are certain you weren't seen?”

“I'm certain, Commander.”

Sebastian crept closer to the rear canvas flaps. The material gapped a fraction of an orlach, and Sebastian could see into the shade of the trees. Lanier faced an Elf whose pale profile contrasted sharply with the dark hair draped over his pointed ears. The Elf held a rolled parchment in his hand, and he placed it into Lanier's.

The Commander read its contents. After a moment, he furled it again and handed it back to the Elf. “Burn it,” he said. “Its contents are deadly if Sebastian gets wind of it. If she truly is willing to carry the banner forward under Liam's name and bloodline, there should be no issue with turning loyalty throughout large portions of West Ashwynd. It will take cultivation, though. Wait for the battle to commence here; then you will have more information to carry back to West Ashwynd.”

“Aye, Commander.” The Elf tucked the parchment into his belt and pulled his vest over it. “Have you any other instructions for me?”

“Nay. I must get to a meeting with Sebastian. I will contact you in a day or two.”

The Elf bowed and departed silently through the trees. Lanier turned for the tent, and Sebastian swiftly exited through the front, slipping behind a thick oak and waiting until Lanier passed to the Commanders' tent. Sebastian followed some lengths behind, his furious thoughts roiling.

So Lanier, the faithful lapdog, had turned at last.

How dare he!

Sebastian stepped inside the Commanders' tent. Lanier leaned over the map on the table where Jerrus held the parchment open. Small, carved bits of wood decorated portions of it, the markers that showed Jerrus's strategy.

“Lanier. So glad to see you could finally grace me with your presence.”

Lanier turned to Sebastian and bowed. “Your Grace, I apologize for my lateness.”

“You never intend to be late, and yet you were.” Sebastian kept his voice as calm as if he were asking for a beaker of water. “What kept you?”

“I stopped to speak with one of the Officers, Your Grace. He had questions relating to the creature positions.” The Commander didn't bat an eyelash. Sebastian wondered how often his servant had lied to him.

“I see.” Sebastian clasped his hands behind his back and paced. “Would it not have been better to settle on our plan of attack first before you instructed him where to place his creatures?”

“It was a cursory question, Your Grace. He only wished to know if the Cerberuses should be so near the Direwolves since they bring out each other's ire.”

“Smooth,” Sebastian muttered, sliding his sword from its sheath. He nestled the tip into Lanier's leather chest piece.

“Your Grace!”

It was a motionless tableau—Jerrus to the side, eyebrows lifted, Lanier frozen by the table, Sebastian gripping his sword.

Lanier slowly raised his hands. “Your Grace, I don't know—”

“Don't you?” Ice crackled through Sebastian's voice as thickly as it did his hands beneath his gloves. He considered stripping off the gloves then and there to turn the traitor into a frozen rock, but the memory of the soldiers' loyalty to Lanier kept his hand on the sword. “Treason, Lanier? After what I've given you?” He allowed disappointment to coat his words.

Lanier's eyes flickered. “The death of my sister was a gift from you as well?”

“Nay, it was a test, one that you have now failed.” Sebastian motioned to a coil of chains laying lay near the back of the tent that had been used to close the creature cages. “Jerrus, bind the Commander's wrists and ankles and keep him here. You and I will trade off guard duty until I can find men I trust to relieve us.”

“Your Grace, what of my soldiers? They will not take kindly to their Commander being in chains.” Desperation tinged Lanier's voice.

Sebastian allowed himself a smile. “They will learn from Jerrus that you have fallen gravely ill and are unable to meet them at post. No one will doubt that you would wish them to fight loyally and hard for Sebastian. Now,” Sebastian sheathed his sword as Jerrus wound the chains around Lanier's fists, “who was the Elf?”

“The Elf?”

“Aye. The Elf who fed you information and who is remaining here until battle commences before returning to West Ashwynd. I wish to gain information from him.”

Lanier lapsed into sullen silence. He allowed Jerrus to force him to the ground against the rear tent pole and to chain his wrists to the wood.

“Oh come, Lanier, you know I hate to resort to torture, particularly since we've had such a wonderful friendship for so very long. So I ask again, who is the Elf? Surely he has a name.”

Lanier's silence was smothering. Sebastian's lips tightened. “Very well, don't speak, but I have by no means finished with you.”

“Would you have me set a guard on him, Your Grace?” Jerrus asked as they both retreated to the entrance of the tent.

“No.” Sebastian glanced across the tent-specked mountain slopes and then to the massive city below. “Most of the soldiers are too loyal to Lanier. Some among the outer Clans may care less, but I will go speak with some of their Officers to get a feel for their thoughts. If I can find a few and feed them enough sceptremarks, we'll have help.”

“Aye, Your Grace.” Jerrus stood aside while Sebastian went to the table and glanced over the map.

“What are your ideas for attack, Jerrus?”

Jerrus pointed to the Marron Mountains in a line across the map. “We can't pull off a frontal attack, not without massive casualties and likely defeat.”

“It is true that Erlane has greater numbers, but we still have an advantage. Our soldiers are well trained, and our Dimn and creature system is far more organized than Lismaria’s,” Sebastian grunted.

“Your Grace, you no longer have the Dragon-Master,” Jerrus reminded him. “Was that not your prime strategy should we reach the gates of ClarenVale?”

“Aye.” Sebastian's voice was clipped. “But we are not completely bereft.”

“Your Grace, our manpower—”

“I am well aware of our numbers, Jerrus!” He looked down at the castle, his familiar home from years ago. “I know those gates, Jerrus. I know the strength that sinews them together. What I don't understand is why you think I don't know how to approach my own castle!”

“Your Grace, no one is implying—”

Jerrus stopped short as Sebastian slammed his gloved hand on the map. “Yes, the implication was clear, and I'll thank you not to gloss it over, Jerrus. If you don't think a frontal attack is the best course of action, then what is your alternate plan?”

Jerrus didn't answer immediately. Sebastian straightened. “Surely you have an alternate course of action?”

“I—am unsure of it, to say the least, Your Grace. I have scouts who are currently following up on the best routes in and out of the castle, but I would say, right now, that our best plan—”

“Yes?”

“—is a siege, Your Grace.”

“A siege.” A siege meant more expense and time, and Sebastian wondered how he would keep Lanier's current prisoner status under wraps for a long siege. Besides that, the longer they remained, the higher the chances that they would have to fight Erlane's reinforcements marching from the eastern reaches of the country.

Jerrus nodded. “Aye, Your Grace, we could easily block entrance to the main gate. The terrain is so mountainous around ClarenVale that it would be extremely hard to open a supply route to any back entrances to the city.”

Sebastian folded his arms across his chest. “And the waterways beneath the castle? Why could we not attack there?”

“We could, Your Grace,” Jerrus answered. “We could do any of these things, but the guard inside the castle is numerous, and we'll take heavy casualties with any plan. Whereas if the inhabitants of the city are starving first, they'll be unable to stand against an onslaught from our side.” Jerrus looked to Sebastian for his approval.

Sebastian had waited years for this, the opportunity to retake his Lismarian throne. Seeing his old home down in the valley had a powerful effect on him, and his patience fled. He wanted to enter Nicholas Erlane's throne room and skewer the old bat with his sword, and he wanted to do it immediately.

Well, perhaps not immediately
, he thought as he eyed another Division arriving and milling about on the ridges, settling their creatures, preparing their shelters and their campfires. One thing about it, they would be no surprise to Erlane.

“Nay,” he turned to face Jerrus again. “We attack at dawn.”

Lanier jerked his gaze to Sebastian's from where he sat. “Your Grace, that would be suicide. Even if we agreed that it was a good plan, we've had little to no time to gain familiarity with the lay of the land, no time to plan strategy—”

“Did I ask you, traitor?” Sebastian interrupted. He slid the map from beneath Jerrus's fingers and rolled it. “I grew up here; I say it can be done.”

Jerrus's dark gaze flicked back and forth between them. “So ... we have an accord then?”

Lanier glared at Sebastian, but Sebastian ignored him. “Aye. Jerrus, you'll take sole leadership on the morrow. Let the men know that Lanier is ill.”

Fury threaded Lanier's gaze. Sebastian turned for the exit. He left Jerrus in the tent with the imprisoned traitor and went to check on his armies and his Dimn.

E
vening stole across the mountains
. Sebastian stood within a torch-lit circle, the heads of all his army Divisions surrounding him. Sebastian had found a Trolldimn who had unwittingly spilled his wrath against Lanier to Commander Jerrus, and Jerrus had brought the Dimn to the Commanders' tent to guard Lanier.

“Our numbers are all arrived, Your Grace,” Jerrus said, and his light voice irritated Sebastian, though he couldn't understand why. “We are free to attack on the morrow.”

“Good,” Sebastian said. “Spend the night setting up the lines before the front gates.”

Jerrus bowed, and Sebastian turned away. He returned to his tent, knowing he wouldn't sleep that night, but hoping to anyway, if only to have a clear head in the morning.

A clear, lilting voice caught him. “Your Grace.”

Sebastian turned. Standing at the edge of the shadows, a familiar form stood, wrapped in a cloak and mantle. A smile curved Sebastian's lips. He approached the slender figure and stopped in front of her.

“Don't you know that a war is on? There are dangerous men lurking about.”