Within the Hollow Crown (30 page)

Chapter 85: The Refugees

Landos stood at the gate of the Castle Hartstone, looking out over his crowd of soldiers. Already the line of the enemy was marching into sight, surrounding the city. The remnants of Endior’s army had joined them only minutes ago, and as Landos predicted, the Turin army was right behind them. The soldiers of Rone had barely cleared the gate when Argos came marching over the fields.

Emily Rone stood beside Landos.

“Your Majesty,” Landos said, “This is no place for you.”

“Don’t belittle me, Landos,” she said. “I’ve been called upon to do this, and I’ll see it through to what will probably be a very bitter end.”

“I think it would be wise to get you out of here,” Landos said. “If we lose today, which we most likely will, we should have someone left to lead.”

“But lead who?”

“The survivors,” Landos said. “The refugees. Already people are flooding to the south coast and taking any ship there is and escaping. As our ancestors did a long time ago. You’ve done all you can here, but it looks bad, and I think you should go. Lead our people to safety. We’ll give you time to escape.”

“I won’t be able to live with myself, if I abandon you now.”

“You’ll just have to fight through the guilt for the good of the people. You know it will be better for them to have a strong leader.”

“I never really thought of myself as a strong leader. Actually, I’ve never been a leader. Even now, I feel like I didn’t do much along the way.”

“Well,” Landos said, “You’re still the one with the crown, and the people still need a Queen. Get out of the city, before we’re surrounded. Help our people.”

Something strange had passed over Landos. He had reverted to politician-Landos, who had been in hiding for a few weeks. But now, even as Argos counted the number of his enemy, Landos was able to stand and lie, as the best of the politicians can. He was able to convince the Queen to run. The fight would be better with the Queen in the Castle. The Rone would have something to defend. But Landos knew it wouldn’t be enough, and so he lied to her, because he wanted someone to remember him.

Emily didn’t say anything, but she believed Landos, and she left. Even as Argos climbed the last hill before the city, Emily had taken a horse and a couple of guards and fled to the docks. With luck, she would live to see another day.

Landos realized that he only had minutes to live. It wasn’t that he expected to die early in the fight. It was that from the time the fight started to the time he died, he would be doing nothing but fighting. These were the last moments he had to himself.

And so he thought of Sarah. And he thought of the first kiss he had given her, on the catwalk, before the assassinations, and the lost friends, and the war. He remembered everything about that kiss. He remembered her lips, her breath, he remembered being self-conscious about where he put his hands. He remembered thinking how amazing it was that he was kissing Sarah. It wasn’t just that he was kissing anyone. It was the realization that if he could have chosen to kiss anyone, it would have been her, and he was actually doing it.

And then, after a second, he remembered his purpose. There, in the parapet of the Castle Hartstone, he was responsible for the Kingdom’s last stand.

And the odds didn’t look good…

Chapter
86: Devesant

The corridors outside the Great Hall were dead silent. Michael, Vye, Corthos, Flopson, and Jareld all stood outside the huge oak double-doors, waiting quietly. The torch burning was the loudest sound they could make out.

“Do we, umm… have a plan of some sort?” Vye asked.

“I guess,” Michael said, “We go in, we fight the dragon, we rescue Sarah, we get out.”

Everyone nodded except Vye, who only raised an eyebrow.

“Do you want to be more specific?” Vye asked.

“I don’t know,” Michael said, “I’ve never fought a dragon before. Jareld, how did King James fight the dragon?”

“Well,” Jareld said, considering this. “Well, first of all, there were twenty-six well-trained knights who entered the dragon’s lair, and only three left.”

The five people in the hall made a quick calculation in their heads. Those weren’t good odds.

“Although,” Jareld said, “They did rescue the Queen.”

The five people all nodded in silence; At least the mission was a success.

“Although,” Jareld continued, “Three of the survivors died on the way out of the Caves.”

There was a moment during which none of the five people knew what to think.

“And the last one died several months later from poisoning,” Jareld concluded.

“You didn’t really answer the question,” Michael stated.

“True,” Jareld said, “But there’s only really one account of the actual fight, and mostly it just mentions how many people died. The finer points of tactics aren’t mentioned.”

Michael sighed. Inasmuch as the odds were bad, they weren’t getting any better. And Sarah was in there.

“Alright,” Michael said. “You all know the plan. Let’s go.”

Vye and Corthos each grabbed a handle of the thick doors. Michael and Jareld drew their swords. Flopson just stood back a little. He didn’t seem to be armed, but that didn’t seem to bother him.

On a nod from Michael, Corthos and Vye swung the doors wide open, then drew their weapons.

The torch almost went out. For a brief moment, the company felt the enormous sense of darkness inside the room. The room was cold. And dark. And it smelled very strongly of sulfur.

Jareld held back a coughing reflex. The stench was obscene. It took a couple of seconds for the company to adjust their breathing before Michael took the first steps into the room.

Even walking quietly, their footsteps sounded to them like a drum solo. Together they entered the Great Hall, feeling the breezy, open space of the opulently designed meeting room.

The Great Hall had been built in the same trend as the Castle Zenith itself, through the careful execution of extremes. While the Castle Zenith was supposed to rest on the highest peak in the tallest mountain range, its Great Hall should probably have been called the Greatest Hall.

The room was cavernous, taking up hundreds of thousands of cubic feet. It was meant to host grand banquets, while leaving room for a dance floor, and it had a built-in stage for performers. There were also balconies rising up four stories, and the original design included a vast glass structure at the top, so that on a sunny day, it could be opened, and sunlight could come through.

The current state of the room was a little bleaker. Because the Castle had literally rolled down a mountain, the opening on the top had been destroyed. Because of the way the rocks had landed, however, the ceiling was now comprised of a carefully balanced array of boulders.

The furniture had long ago been destroyed in various fights between Devesant and assorted knights, adventurers, treasure-hunters, and the occasional spelunkers. There were still random bits of charred wood scattered around the room, representing the plethora of mahogany tables, oak chairs, and balsa benches.

But there was no metal at all to be found. What loose metal was once in the room had been added to Devesant’s hoard. Like most of his kind, Devesant enjoyed accumulating vast treasures and keeping them for himself. Currently, his hoard was taking up two of the balconies, three floors up.

Most conspicuously, the party could not see Devesant.

But Devesant was there, hiding in the rafters. While Dragons are most famous for their large size and great power, they are also devious, alert, and stealthy. Devesant had long ago dug himself an alcove out of four adjacent balconies, right above the main entrance. This was his favorite resting spot. It allowed him to see his treasure trove, across the way. And it allowed him to note who entered before people thought to look in his direction. He had spent considerable time barring all the other entrances into the room. In theory, the only way to enter Devesant’s lair was to do it literally right under his nose.

Devesant also knew the comings and goings of the Castle Zenith. The creatures of the dark always kept in touch, and in this case, Devesant had known that Michael was coming to rescue his Queen.

For several seconds, Devesant watched the party fan out, look around, and stare in wonder at the sheer size of his lair. He sized them up. He decided he did not have to worry.

“Where is he?” Corthos whispered aloud to the group.

“Where is she?” Michael corrected. “If we don’t have to fight the Dragon, I’m perfectly happy to leave with Sarah.”

Devesant looked over to the southern-most balcony on the second tier. Even in the pitch darkness, he could see Sarah there. She had been well-kept in her captivity, at the request of the one who had brought her to him.

It had been four days ago when the stranger had appeared in the middle of his lair. A man named Argos.

Devesant, not knowing about this creature, was startled for
only the fourth time in his two thousand, seven hundred, fifty-five year life. Feeling threatened, he immediately went on the offensive.

“
What thief wanders into my night?” Devesant said, in his
usual low snarl
.

“I am no thief,” Argos had said. “I am a bringer of gifts.”

“I do not capture women for sport,” Devesant said, seeing Argos’ only bit of luggage. He landed next to Argos, spread his wings, and walked menacingly around the Turin Master.

“She is not for sport, Master Dragon. She is the bait.”

“Bait for what?” Devesant scowled.

“For the prize item of your treasury. For the Sword of Kings.”

“The Saintskeep?” Devesant said. “You know where it is?”

“Yes,” Argos said.

“Bring it to me!”

“It will come to you. Be patient.”

“It was stolen from me, long ago. If you know where it is, bring it to me!”

“I will not.”

“Then die!”

Devesant inhaled deeply, and exhaled the full power of his fiery breath onto Argos. But Argos did not move, and he was not charred. He held out a hand before him, like he was checking his nails. The fire engulfed him, but he just stood still, in complete Zen.

Devesant ran out of breath, but not out of options. He stood full on his hind legs, slapped his tail on the ground for effect, then struck forward with his long neck, snapping at the insolent Turin and his captive.

But his mouth came back empty, and when he looked back, Argos was not there. Devesant spun quickly in all directions, until he saw his would-be prey, waving from one of the second tier balconies.

“You should save your breath,” Argos said, “Literally. You will not be able to hurt me, though I may be one of only five people in the world for whom that is true. I have come to offer you a deal. Will you listen?”

“What do you propose?”

“I need a man killed. He will have the Saintskeep with him, and he will chase this woman, even to the ends of the earth.”

“We’re not far from it now…”

“All you have to do is take good care of this woman, keep her alive, and untouched, until he gets here, then kill him. What you do with everyone else is your business.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“You seem to be a powerful man,” Devesant said. “Why can’t you fight this man? Is he even more powerful than you? Is he a great sorcerer, or the son of a god?”

“He is no such thing,” Argos said. “He is a mortal man. He has no special function.”

“Then why…?”

“Because, I am not allowed to fight him.”

With that, the man disappeared. Devesant checked the balcony where he had been, and found the young woman. She was beautiful. He thought for a moment that he could break his usual rules about sporting with his captives, but the man had said she should be untouched.

And his reward would be the Saintskeep.

The Saintskeep had once been the prize item of his treasury. There were many old items in his keeping, but the Saintskeep was easily the oldest and most valuable. It had been forged even before Devesant was born, and it held a magical power rarely seen these days. It had been the King’s Sword for the Kingdom of Rone for the previous 500 years, but its history started long before that.

For nine hundred years before Rone the Great wielded the sword in victory over the Turin, the sword had rested in Devesant’s piles of gold. Devesant remembered it well, along with the day it was stolen from him. To get it back, he would wait. He would use the girl to get the steel.

He always kept his ear out, but for the most part, people were under the impression that he had the Saintskeep in his lair, because the common legend suggested that the King had died there. He was always aware of half a dozen adventurers, spread throughout the Caves, looking for the sword in his lair.

Even at that moment, he knew of four expeditions searching the Caves. One group even had a map. What he didn’t know, not even as Jareld entered the Great Hall, was that one of them had made it to him.

Devesant moved, silent as death, repositioning himself over the party. If he wanted to, he could breath fire on them, incinerating the company. But he didn’t want to damage the Saintskeep. He would need to play this more carefully.

He decided to use his voice.

“Who disturbs my peaceful slumber?” the dragon said.

As it turned out, Jareld was one of those people who lost control of his bladder. Vye, Corthos, and Michael were the sort who were frozen for a moment, then dove for cover.

Flopson, upon hearing the voice, was nowhere to be seen.

Devesant enjoyed seeing Jareld standing, alone, with wet pants, in the middle of the room. His friends had each gone in a different direction, finding some feature of the architecture or the devastation to hide behind.

“Have you come to fight me?” Devesant said. Jareld could only think of his voice. His voice, deep as the earth, both smooth and gravely, as though a duet came out of his mouth whenever he spoke.

“My n-n-name is Jareld. I demand the release of Sarah Ralsean.”

Devesant flapped his wings twice and wind-sailed down to the floor. He kept his wings open as he slapped his tail against the doors, forcing them shut.

“Demand!” Devesant said. If there was anything left in Jareld’s bladder, it would have tried to escape at that point. “Who are you to demand anything?”

“He’s with me,” Michael said, emerging from the shadows. He drew his sword, which Devesant recognized at once. Michael was the one with the Saintskeep. Whatever his name, rank, or position, Devesant did not care. He was the resurrection of the thief who stole the sword in the first place. “My name is King Michael Rone IV, and I hereby demand the return of my Queen.”

“Thief!” Devesant cried, “You shall perish in the flame!”

And then the parley was over, and the attack began.

Still reluctant to use fire, Devesant swung his forward leg at Michael, trying to sweep him into a wall. Michael barely had time to drop backwards, getting out of the way. Corthos, in the meantime, had tumbled in, grabbed the frozen Jareld, and tossed them both behind a nearby pile of rock.

“Methinks you are outmatched,” Corthos said. “Yer the brains o’ this operation, but per’aps you should stay out of the fight. Go hide over there, and we’ll get you when we win!”

With that, Corthos sprung back over the rocks and into the action, not giving Jareld enough time to ask what the contingency plan was if they lost.

Vye, meanwhile, had not been idle. She had found a crossbow in one of the abandoned rooms while Michael and Jareld had been off retrieving the Saintskeep. She would have preferred to fight with her sword, but her left arm was still in a sling, and she couldn’t balance herself correctly.

As with everything else she tried, Vye was a very good shot. And she was just strong enough to load the contraption with her good arm and her right boot. She hefted the crossbow onto her injured arm, which she used as a perch. It wasn’t ideal, but she could manage it.

Michael ran for cover as Devesant repeatedly tried to stomp him with his clawed paw. Michael didn’t have a chance to get a swing in, he could only barely avoid being squashed.

Corthos flanked Devesant from the other side, trying to attack while the dragon was looking the other way. He swung his sword, hard, four times at Devesant’s left paw and torso. But his sword couldn’t do any damage. It was like swinging a sword at a thick tree. A steel-reinforced, thick tree.