Offendorl had a tent that was every bit as lavish as that of Belphan and Zorlan, but he preferred to meet with the kings away from his personal space. Spending time with the kings and their generals each day was wearying, and he made sure that he could escape to his own quarters after he’d made his daily rounds.
Once he was ensconced in his wagon, he lit two lamps to give his ancient eyes enough light to read by. He was propped on cushions and sipping a goblet of wine while he read the book he had brought with him. It was so old the paper had to be handled with the utmost care to keep it from crumbing to pieces. In some places the writing had faded and was difficult to make out, but that didn’t deter Offendorl. He was determined to learn all he could about controlling the dragon. He continued to call to the beast day and night, and he sensed that it was moving closer.
The entire first half of the book was a history of the dragon species. Very little was known about where dragons came from or why they seemed to spring up in groups throughout history. The translation of the text was tedious, but Offendorl had grown patient in his long life. A younger man might have been tempted to skip ahead, past the history and care of dragons, but Offendorl was nothing if not thorough. Reading and learning where the only things he still cared about other than power. He read to learn to increase his magical abilities, but he still found pleasure in a quiet, comfortable place with a thick tome or ancient scroll before him. He was awake late into the night reading, and at last he had discovered exactly what he needed to bring the dragon under his control.
He was fascinated to learn that crowns worn by kings had their origins in dragon lore. There was no explanation for why dragons were drawn so strongly to gold, although the precious metal not only worked to heal the beasts, it could also be used to control them. Offendorl sat studying a picture of a wizard with a long beard and helmet made of pure gold. The helmet had a name inscribed on it, and, according to the book, if Offendorl could learn the dragon’s name, he could have total control of the beast. It was exactly the kind information he had been hoping for, that elusive last piece to the puzzle he needed.
He slept for only a few hours before his servants woke him. He rose early each morning and met with the commanders of both armies. He had to make sure their invasion moved forward smoothly. In fact, it had been his idea to send the knight who had approached them under the banner of truth back to their king empty-handed. After the group had sat through the long, rainy night, Offendorl had sent them away without a reply while King Belphan and King Zorlan slept. This morning he needed riders to go in search of anyone with information about the dragon. They had passed by and plundered many villages on their way north, and already they had heard reports of people claiming to have seen the beast, or to have fled from their homes to escape the dragon. Offendorl knew the dragon was communicating, and what he needed was someone with knowledge of the beast’s name.
By midmorning, once the kings had slept off their excess from the night before, the army began its daily march. It was late afternoon when they spotted the Yelsian army spread out before them. Offendorl was surprised by King Felix’s daring. Unlike Belphan and Zorlan, Felix was not content to sit in the castle. He brought his army into the field, and now they would fight. At least, Offendorl thought, there would not be any more skirmishing. A full-on attack would mean that thousands would die, on both sides, but Offendorl put little value on the lives of mortal men. The army halted, and they made camp less than a mile from their enemy.
“In the morning, we shall attack them,” Offendorl told King Belphan and King Zorlan, as they met for their nightly report.
“I thought you said Felix would hide in his castle,” Belphan said.
“I did, but in this instance I was wrong,” Offendorl admitted.
“He’s making a bold move,” said one of the generals. “I can’t imagine what would make him fight us in the open field.”
“Perhaps he has an advantage that we know nothing of,” said Zorlan.
“It’s possible,” said Offendorl, “but if the wizard Zollin is with them, they would still be better off fighting from behind the high walls of their city.”
“So, why would he do it?” Belphan asked.
“There could be any number of reasons,” Offendorl said angrily, he did not like being questioned. “The most likely being there is something between us and Orrock that he cannot move and does not wish us to find. It forces him to fight us here, and we shall use that to our advantage. He will find that we shall not be beaten back so easily.”
“What do you have planned for them?” Belphan asked again.
“Nothing,” Offendorl said, “we cannot break the treaty.”
“You will not fight for us?” Belphan’s face was turning red. “This invasion is entirely your idea, and now you will leave us defenseless?”
Offendorl looked at King Belphan. His generals were all staring at the ground, their faces red with shame.
“You have an army, my King. You are not defenseless. You want the spoils of war without doing the work. Do not fear, you shall be safe. We will keep you and King Zorlan far from the fighting.”
Just then a tremendous crash shook the ground. The camp erupted with shouting and screaming.
“What have you done?” King Belphan shouted.
Offendorl didn’t bother to answer. Instead he hurried out of the tent with the generals of the armies. The camp was in chaos, and another crash shook the ground. Someone shouted for them to take cover, and fires were flaring up in the darkness all around the camp. Offendorl let his magic flow out so that he could discover what was happening. He felt the next boulder hurtling through the air and the truth dawned on him.
“Trebuchets,” he told the generals. “Pull your men back. Do it quietly. No torches; they will only give the Yelsians something to aim at.”
The soldiers moved quickly away, while King Belphan and King Zorlan crowded closer to the master wizard.
“They have trebuchets?” Belphan said. “It is dishonorable to fight at night.”
“I don’t think they are concerned with honor,” Offendorl said. “Get your servants moving. We need to pull back out of their range.”
The next hour was frantic. Offendorl stayed with the kings, even raising a defensive shield around them when one boulder came crashing down not far from their position and sending shattered bits of rock flying toward them. The officers of the army shouted themselves hoarse trying to get their men organized in the dark chaos, but eventually the army had fallen back and reformed beyond the range of the trebuchets. The camp burned, including many of the soldiers’ tents, and much of the plunder they had taken on their march north was lost. Both of the kings’ tents were burned, but Offendorl’s servants feared their master more than death. They worked tirelessly to ensure that the ancient wizard’s possessions were moved out of harm’s way.
When dawn finally arrived, the invaders’ camp was in total ruins. There were smoldering piles of ash where tents or wagons had burned. Shattered stone was everywhere, and the earth was torn into muddy gashes. Nothing that had been left behind was intact. Offendorl could still see the Yelsian army in the distance, but the trebuchets were not visible.
“The ground must slope downward on the far side of their forces,” said one of the generals who was standing nearby waiting for orders.
“Yes,” Offendorl said. “I imagine the Tillamook river is nearby, and they are using the river to ferry in stone for their artillery.”
“What do we do now?” King Belphan asked.
“We wait,” said Offendorl.
“But sir,” said one general in surprise, “we have more than enough men to take their position.” The soldier turned to King Zorlan. “Send us forward, sire, and we shall destroy them.”
“Don’t be a fool,” said Offendorl. “After marching for nearly a mile across open ground while they drop stones on your forces, you’ll be in no shape to fight anyone.”