EPIC: Fourteen Books of Fantasy (210 page)

Far to the north, in an exquisite and well-kept room, a well-dressed man waited. His eyes turned to the door as it opened, a stately servant stepping through.

“You may have your audience with the prince now,” declared the steward.

“Thank you,” said the tall, all-too-familiar elf.

He stood and was led into a large, lavishly furnished parlor. Inside was an unimpressive figure in very impressive garb. His build was lean, trending toward lanky, and his expression was a pale imitation of authority. He was a man, perhaps twenty years old, who might be considered handsome if his features or posture could muster even an ounce of confidence. Instead, his bearing and presence spoke quietly of meekness, weakness, and insignificance.

“Oh, yes, and you are?” asked the prince.

“A concerned party,” said the stranger.

“Er. Is that all? Generally, the steward presents my visitors with their full title and point of business,” he said, brow furrowed slightly.

“Yes, well, I rather doubt your servant knew my name
or
my business. Were you to call him in here, in fact, I suspect he would be quite confused to find me in the room.”

“I . . . I don’t understand.”

“That is hardly a surprise, Your Highness. You are Terrilius Croyden Lumineblade, latest in the impressively long, and astoundingly unbroken, Lumineblade dynasty. That should make you a towering figure in the hearts and minds of your people. Instead, you are known, you should be aware, as the frail whelp that might someday rule Vulcrest.”

“Now that simply isn’t true, my people love--”

“Your people are ashamed of you. Your skill with a sword is barely average, your riding skill is virtually nonexistent, and you have the force and presence of a damp washing cloth. Your people dread the day your father will die to leave the kingdom in your hands, and there are no less than seven assorted lords and knights actively contesting your claim to the crown.”

“I don’t have to take that from you!”

“No, you don’t, and yet you are. The very fact my head is still on my shoulders says all that needs to be said about you. A stranger in the castle unannounced? Someone in your position should have called in the guards in a heartbeat. You lack any of the distinguishing qualities of a king, save birthright. In short, Your Highness, unless you are able to illustrate that you have the wisdom, the strength, and the will to lead, then this kingdom will never be yours.”

“I . . . I cannot . . .”

“Not to worry. Wisdom can be provided by advisers, and strength by armies. You need only prove that you have the will, and that is simple enough. Take swift, decisive action in the protection of your land and your people will see in you a leader.”

“What would you suggest?”

“Do you recall, some years ago, when a dark sorceress emerged from Tressor and rode a dragon creature into the heart of Ravenwood?”

“Of course. It was the day of that terrible storm. My father forbade any to venture far into Ravenwood because of it.”

“Well, Ravenwood is the finest hunting ground on the continent. Losing it is a tremendous hardship. And to react to a threat within your own borders by simply ignoring it? Is that truly the act of a leader?”

The prince’s eyes drifted, seeming to focus on a point beyond the walls of the room.

“The wizard and her beast must be destroyed . . .” he said vaguely.

“Very wise idea, Your Highness. I happen to know that they have taken refuge in a wizard’s tower deep within the forest.”

“I am quite aware of Ravenwood’s tower.”

“Splendid. So you know where they are, and you know that she must be killed. Now, if you were to order me to, I believe I could be coerced into performing this deed personally.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I am the prince, and, as you say, I am the one with something to prove. I shall gather the best of our soldiers, I shall lead them into Ravenwood, and I shall defeat the sorceress myself.”

“Will you, now? Then perhaps you would consider including me in your party. I--”

“No. I do not know who you are, sir, and though you may think me a fool, I am not so blind as to mistake a wolf for a sheep. You are after something. I thank you for stepping forward to inform me of my shortcomings. There are few willing to speak to royalty so frankly. And I thank you for inspiring me to take action for the benefit of my kingdom, but whatever plan you mean to hatch, you shall not. So leave me. I’ve much to prepare.”

“As you wish, Your Highness,” replied the stranger.

He excused himself, walking out of the prince’s chambers amid various looks of confusion and concern. Indeed, no one remembered allowing him in, but the fact that he was inside and seemed to fit so comfortably into the castle atmosphere led each to assume that he had been invited by another.

“Not the ideal outcome,” the stranger mused aloud to no one, “but it will do. The boy knows nothing of battle, and yet acts as though he is invincible, as though making the decision was the only challenge. One way or another, that will ensure at least one of the targets will be destroyed.”

Some days later, Halfax was stalking through the forest on his daily patrol. Years without being disturbed had not dulled the edge of his dedication. For a dragon, a few years was barely the blink of an eye. He looked and listened, but for the most part, he replied upon his nose. The forest was dense with scent. The crisp smell of fresh snow, the distant aroma of ripe vegetables in Jade’s clearing, and the enticing scent of a deer all wafted on the same breeze from the west. The dragon had taken a few stealthy steps toward his would-be prey when a northern gust of wind carried with it a mixture of smells that set off alarms in his mind. Horses and men. Many of each. Halfax burst into a sprint, heading directly for the source of the wind.

As he drew nearer, the sound of hooves and the clink and jingle of armor confirmed his fears. Soldiers. More than a dozen of them. Before long, they were in sight. Halfax could determine their intentions with little more than a glance. Each was armed with heavy, cruel weapons. Oversized axes, spiked clubs, two-handed swords, and longbows. Things capable of piercing armor . . . or scales. They were dragonslayers, or hoped to be. The undeniable looks of anxiety on their faces suggested they had little experience in the area, and no confidence. Only the man in the center of the group stood as an exception. In place of anxiety was a look of determination. He alone was armed with a light sword, and the higher quality of his ornate armor labeled him as their superior, in title if not in skill.

The horses, more mindful of hidden threats than their riders, became uneasy. Most of the men were able to quickly set their steeds straight again. The well-dressed leader had more difficulty. When he finally succeeded, he felt the gaze of his men. It was the prince, and alone among his men for the first time in ages, it was only now becoming clear to him the contempt they felt. Drawing himself with as much regal bearing as he could muster, he spoke.

“Right, Commander,” he said, “the horses seem restless. How much further until we reach the tower?”

Halfax’s expression sharpened.

“Not long. Within the hour, Your Highness,” replied the soldier.

He hissed the prince’s title like a profanity, a subtlety the noble failed to notice.

“Good, excellent. And we are all prepared to put this woman and her pet to a swift and certain end?” he asked.

“Yes, Your Highness. As prepared as any men can be.”

That was all that Halfax needed to hear. If they were planning to attack Jade, then they would go no further. The dragon readied himself. He’d dealt with dragonslayers before. Perhaps they claimed to do what they did for the good of their country or for the vast rewards, but there was always a deeper desire: glory. These men wanted a reputation. They wanted to prove to themselves that they were strong enough to stand against this mighty beast. The way to deal with them was not to kill them. That would only bring more men to replace them, better armed and more determined. No, one must fulfill their expectations. Give them what they wanted. Terrify them, clash with them. Give them scars to show off and stories to tell around the campfire. Give them a fight they would never forget, and one that they would never want to repeat.

With a slow, purposeful step, Halfax snapped a branch on the ground. The men turned toward the sound in perfect unison. He plodded slowly toward them, crushing brush and stomping the earth. Were he trying to kill these men, he would never be so clumsy in his approach, but in the mind of a man, a dragon was a mindless monster thrashing through the forest. It was best not to disappoint. His approach ratcheted the tension tighter than the bow strings that the archers shakily held ready. He let out a low growl that shook the trees and seemed to come from everywhere at once.

At the sound, the horses panicked, forcing the soldiers to struggle to keep them under control. Some had more success than others. The well-dressed and poorly-equipped prince failed completely, his horse breaking formation and galloping madly away amid his angry protests. Halfax chose that moment to reveal himself, broken wings spread and thrashing, teeth bared and gleaming, and a bloodcurdling roar splitting the air. The bowmen released their arrows, not a single one even close to hitting its target. The sight of the charging monster was too much for half of the men, sending them galloping back from whence they came. The more steadfast of the men abandoned their horses and raised their weapons, ready to do battle.

The battle that followed was as well-choreographed as a dance. Halfax darted in and lashed with claw and tail, separating the warriors into manageable groups. Most of the archers were gone, but those who remained each got a skillfully aimed burst of flame, just strong enough to snap the bowstring and singe some skin. That left only the heavy weapons, which were little threat at all. The well-earned reputation of invincibility that dragons enjoyed was thanks in no small part to the fact that most weapons powerful enough to do any damage were far too slow to be any good. By the time a suitably large ax was raised and ready, Halfax had easily put the wielder on his back with a firm butt of his head or a careful rake of his claws. The broadswords were a bit faster, but exhausting to use. One or two soldiers hacked a shallow notch into his scales--one even drew blood--but by the third swing, no man among them had the strength to manage anything more than a glancing blow.

In no time at all, each of the men had taken more than he could stand. One by one, they retreated. The final warrior to go was the commander. He was tired and bloodied, but he refused to back away until his sword, a weapon even more battle-scarred than he, broke upon the dragon’s back. Finally, he’d had enough. He moved as quickly as his tired body could manage in the direction the others had gone, hand still clutching the broken sword. Halfax gave chase for a few steps, and heaved a blast of flame for good measure. As quickly as it had begun, it was over.

The beast allowed himself a brief moment of pride, but it flickered away as the sound of frantic hoofbeats began to approach again. From among the trees came the prince. He had managed to get some degree of control over his steed again and was urging it back into the battleground. Halfax planted his feet, drew in a breath, and unleashed a rush of flame. He’d intended it to startle the horse beyond any hope of regaining control and he was, if anything,
too
successful. The terrified animal thrashed about, turning abruptly enough to hurl the prince from its back. In a hapless tumble of flailing limbs and gleaming armor, he careened toward a tree. A dull thud and a rush of pained breath marked his impact. He fairly wrapped around the trunk before recoiling and tumbling to the ground. Halfax continued on his way, leaving the man wheezing and attempting to reclaim the wind that had been knocked from him.

“You . . . you come back here!” he managed, crawling after the dragon, “Damn you, beast! Face me!”

The would-be king struggled to his feet, leaning heavily on the tree.

“You are a . . . blight on my people! We have been deprived of a valuable hunting ground, a lifeline, by . . . you and your dark sorceress of a master! I swear to all that will hear me that I shall reclaim it for my people. Even if I have to strike you down myself! Even if I have to strike
her
down mys--”

He never managed to finish the oath. A sweeping swat of a claw sent him first to the tree, then to the ground. Halfax stood over the now-motionless noble, feeling for a moment as though what had just happened had nothing to do with him. The suggestion that this man would harm Jade robbed him of centuries of carefully cultivated control, allowing a flash of raw anger to take hold for an instant. The result was the crumbled, broken wreck of a human being before him.

The dragon scolded himself. Killing a prince . . . they would have to leave now. Killing a prince would bring the wrath of a kingdom. He plodded slowly away, but as he did, a nagging sensation that he couldn’t place began to make its voice heard. It reminded him of the sense he had used to find Jade all of those years ago. It wasn’t something of the body; it was something of the mind, of the spirit. A weak, subtle glow just beyond the point of vision. An aura that only people like Jade shared . . . people who were of a Chosen line . . .