“Other dragons live on the Masaka,” Ymmen told me, and his mind sounded dubious. “But there is also too much oil and poison and sweat. The abominations.”
“It was Inyene,” I had to concede. She had attacked the guard towers so that she had an easy route into the Middle Kingdom? Or an easy escape route if all went badly?
Whatever the strange motivations of the tyrant was, my purpose had once again become clear: “We ride!” I stood up in the stirrups of the little Plains pony and called back to the others behind me. “We have a clear route through the mountains! Let’s take advantage of it!”
And I sat back down, leaning forward to spur the pony into a gallop, as the mighty black dragon launched into the air above us.
They met the pass through the mountains as the sun was in the center of the sky, and it cast the ruined stone towers that guarded the only route to the Three Kingdoms for three hundred miles in an uncompromising light.
The stone towers were more austere and functional than the Greenbow river bridge was – they had been built by Torvald in some ancient times past, and had their square-walled, angular construction. Or, they would have, if they weren’t lying in ruined pieces, blackened and smoking from the mechanical dragons’ ire.
The evidence of Inyene’s anger was everywhere, and even I – a child of the Western Winds, could see the tragedy in this destruction. These buildings, although they marked the end of Daza territory, could have been mighty storehouses, or places of welcome for travelers between our two realms. Instead, they were now a mountain of tumbled rubble, with flames still playing at their edges.
“Halt!” shouted a voice from the mountainsides, and I could feel the lightning tension ripple out through my war band. The Daza went quiet, their hands grasping their spears and bows tighter, while the Red Hounds started to move, wolf-like and silent, into lines.
But the figures that appeared high on the edges of the cliffs looked small and few. I guessed that there could be no more than twenty Torvald guards up there with the purple and red of their official cloaks flaring in the wind. I saw what I guessed to be crossbows up there. Which will prove a problem if we have to pass by them.
“We come in peace!” I shouted up, hearing my voice echo down the wide canyon that wound through the mountains.
There were muffled snorts and sounds from the guard tower defenders, far above. I could well understand if they were hesitant to trust some foreign army on the march, so soon after the destruction of their homes.
“You’re entering the lands of Torvald!” the bravest of them shouted defiantly, but I thought I detected a youthful waiver in the speaker’s voice. “Torvald will repel her enemies with force and fire!”
“Doesn’t seem force and fire worked too well last time—” I heard the nearest of the Red Hound Captains mutter – it was the tawny-haired one, still sounding grouchy and resentful.
“We are no enemies of Torvald!” I raised my voice as loud as I could, demanding that they hear me – and wishing that they would hear my earnestness.
There was a pause, and muffled concerns, before the original speaker returned, “You speak of peace – and yet there is a dragon in the air, and last night we were attacked by dragon fire!”
No, you weren’t, I thought, feeling Ymmen’s rising resentment in my mind at the merest suggestion of being likened to Inyene’s foul creations. But how could I explain the difference to these scared people? That the creatures that brought them ruin and death last night, and which had flashed through the dark skies with fire and claws hadn’t been wild dragons at all – but the works of an evil mind…
But how couldn’t they know? Why didn’t they see the difference? A spike of indignant anger burst in me, rising with the buzz of the Stone Crown.
Keep it together, I breathed through the throbbing headache.
“We come with peace for Torvald!” I repeated – although there was a part of me who wondered if I could even make such a promise… “We are on the trail of the one who did this. We are her sworn enemies and wish to give aid to the middle Kingdom against her!” I shouted, my voice sounding hoarse. Behind me I could hear the shuffling grumbles of the Red Hounds, bored and listless with this parlay.
“You come to fight the Daza sorceress?” the bravest Torvald speaker said, and although his voice sounded young and thin and puzzled, it still hit me to the bone.
“The what?” I turned and hissed at my friends around me, Abioye, Tamin, and Montfre. “Inyene isn’t Daza!” I said in concern, as the voice from the canyon-cliff walls above us continued in the high sun.
“There is a sorceress born out there on the Plains. She has grown strong with dangerous dragons and wild magics. All of the Three Kingdoms are talking about her – how do I know that you are not her allies and friends?”
And I bet that evil Daza sorceress is named Narissea. I gritted my teeth in anger and insult. It was so clear now, wasn’t it? Montfre and Abioye themselves had taught me how Inyene worked. She manipulated and took advantage at every step of the way, having wealthy husbands who all mysteriously died, having alchemists working for her whom she ‘disappeared’ – before painting herself as the true heir to the three-part crown of the Three Kingdoms.
The crown that I am now wearing, a part of me realized uncomfortably.
There was a growl of frustration from beside me, and I turned to see Abioye, his face twisted into a snarl of frustrated anger and shame. What must it feel like to him to be faced with his sister’s actions like this? I thought for a moment, but it was just a moment, as I knew that I had to cross this pass somehow.
“How do you know we are not allied with the tyrant?” I shouted up at them, my indignation at this insult rising a little. “We have not attacked you!”
There was silence from the cliff tops as the remaining survivors of the guard towers conferred. The pause waged long, and I could see agitated and excited gestures between the men and women up there.
“Pfagh!” An angered voice from behind me. It was the tawny-haired Red Houndsman. He was apparently some sort of officer in their group, and although they had nominally pledged their allegiance to my cause, I could see in the way that his brothers and sisters in the Hounds looked at him that the Red Hounds had two masters.
“No time for this!” the mercenary said indignantly. “Hounds! Move out!” he said, throwing his arms forward as he stepped forward.
“No, wait—” I said urgently, not wishing to cause any more bloodshed where it was unneeded.
But the Red Hounds were peeling away from the Daza, knot by knot, striding forward defiantly with their crossbows slung across their chests and their longswords, mattocks and attics at their belts. They streamed forward towards the Pass, walking proudly and defiantly. They outnumbered the Torvald survivors above them, but not by much – and both sides had crossbows. The guards above have the higher ground, I thought in alarm.
“Halt! HALT!” The Torvald guards were apparently unpleased with such defiance of their rules, but the Red Hounds below threw them insulting gestures.
Pheet! The first shot was fired by the Torvald defenders, and it was clearly a desperate move on their part, as it was wide of the advancing Red Hounds by a good twenty meters or more. The Torvald crossbow struck the flattened dirt of the canyon floor with a sharp strike of sparks as the bolt shattered.