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The land, and everything on it, was aflame. The dragon was down – mortally wounded, or dead – but great swatches of fire still burned and ferociously ate its way through the disoriented ranks of soldiers. The smell of burning flesh, and the sound from the throats of those soldiers being horribly consumed by the flames, caused utter terror and pandemonium. There was no order and no sanity. All around was complete and desperate chaos and Damanaclee was right in the centre where he was confined by the press of bodies slamming against him and by the dozens of hands tearing at his clothes. It was every Plutonian for himself and escape from the flames was paramount.
Damanaclee couldn’t hear himself think. The noise was deafening, and the smoke made it impossible to make out anything outside of his immediate position other than moving shapes. He stood still, ignoring the panicked assaults on his body, momentarily listening for something that would make sense to his besieged ears, but all he could hear was the incessant commotion of panic. He threw himself around and - his elbows up and jabbing to left and right, and his shoulders pushing and shoving - he succeeded in clearing a path for himself.
It was heavy going and, just as his eyes spied a gap in the
choking smoke, he felt a flare of heat singe the skin on his face as a flash of fire exploded above and to the side of him. He surmised that one of the atomfire weapons had caught and erupted and this was confirmed when the delayed shock-wave from the explosion knocked him to the ground.
A bone snapped in his ankle and he screamed.
Minutes passed. Soldiers fell at his side and some landed on top of him and he was soon buried beneath the heavy bodies of the fallen. More minutes passed and, biting back against the agony in his foot, he used all his formidable strength to throw the bodies off and pull himself to his knees.
Then, something inexplicable happened. There was a sudden eerie calm – a calm that seemed to exist only for him. It was as if he’d been transported out of the melee to stand alone and miraculously untouched in a strangely silent space.
He tried to stand, but the movement tore at his injured ankle and left him gasping for breath.
He felt a hand on his arm and jerked around. Analaision was at his side, wordlessly screaming at him and pulling him towards her, and he saw the witch and knew that she was somehow protecting him.
He winced as his wife continued to haul on his arm. He found it impossible to put any weight on his one foot and was forced to crawl to her side.
Then, there was a cascade of cold pouring down from the heavens and his eyes showed him that the witch had sucked a thunderous wall of water from the sea and had sent it crashing down to drench and dowse the flames.
‘Move!’ Analaision screamed, yanking at his arm and attempting to haul him to his feet. ‘There’s another dragon... Move!’
He gasped and threw himself against her, almost knocking her to the ground. She kept to her feet and managed to steady
him until he’d sufficiently gathered his wits.
‘I’m hurt,’ he huffed. ‘I can’t stand.’
‘Use me. Pull on me. You have to get up.’ She braced herself and allowed him to heave himself up onto his good foot. At one point she thought she felt her shoulder dislocate but, such was her heightened sense of anxiety, she didn’t feel a thing.
‘Where to?’ he asked.
‘To Hagen... she’s waiting.’
He nodded and, leaning heavily on her, moved forward, but his equilibrium was shot to pieces, and the pain he suffered was so unbearable, that he dropped back onto his knees, pulling her down with him.
By that time, they were both soaked and the cold from the water was seeping through to their bones. But, Analaision refused to surrender and hauled herself back to her feet. ‘Move,’ she cried again. ‘Move, or die.’
With a roar of sheer frustration, he pushed himself up and, grabbing hold of her shoulders and ignoring the pain, staggered a few steps before his feet found purchase and he was as steady as his trembling legs and the pain would allow.
Rhythmically, tediously, they picked their way past the fallen and the dead - through sucking mud and around clutching hands – and reached the very edge of what had become a killing field. The Great Lakes were behind them and the shore of the Karrap sea was immediately to their left, and ahead of them was empty tundra that would take them two moons to cross on foot.
Damanaclee searched the sky with stinging eyes. There was no sign of the second dragon. It seemed, for now, that the worst of the attack was over. He couldn’t begin to assess his losses or determine if it was worth continuing with the campaign and taking what was left of his army onwards. All he did know was that they were exposed and in danger of further attack by the second dragon - and most probably by the Icarrion army.
He dropped his eyes and stared straight ahead towards where the witch, Hagen, waited with two Kallips. He set his jaw and bit back on the bitter thoughts that rampaged through his mind. Someone should have warned him about the dragons. Someone should have prepared him. He didn’t, for one moment, blame himself or take any responsibility for the loss of life or for the potential failure to make war on the Draggoster queen and seize her throne. It wasn’t his fault that his wife had all but dragged him half-way across the planet only to walk into fire and flame.
Unbeknown to him, the spell that the witch had cast over him had taken its toll on his decision-making and, now that it was wearing off, he was beginning to realise that he’d been a fool.
Hagen brought the Kallips forward and urged them to mount quickly. Damanacree looked steadily away from her and ignored the reins she held out to him.
‘He’s hurt,’ Analaision said. ‘His ankle, I think.’
Hagen handed the reins over and tentatively approached him.
‘I can help,’ she said. ‘May I touch you?’
Damanaclee nodded reluctantly. If the witch was capable of nearly emptying the sea, he was sure she could mend his ankle.
He felt heat emanate from her hands as she massaged the injured joint. He tolerated her touch but was revulsed by it, but he was soon soothed, and eventually felt the pain leave him.
‘Thank you,’ he said sourly, ungraciously. ‘You can take your stinking hands off me now.’
Hagen raised a brow and backed away on her knees – his
uncouth manners affecting her not a jot.
‘We need to get back to our ships and get off this planet,’ Analaision said urgently. ‘We need to regroup and come up with a better plan.’
He didn’t answer her.
Analaision – unaware of the ineffectual remnants of Hagen’s spell – pushed on. She said, ‘Husband, clear your head and get on that Kallip. Delay could mean our deaths.’ She reached out to grab his arm. ‘Husband...’
‘’Don’t touch me,’ he jerked. ‘Get back from me.’
Stung, she gasped and stepped away. ‘What ails you, husband? Don’t you understand what I’m trying to tell you?’
Damanaclee pointed a long finger at her. ‘You,’ he said. ‘This is all you.’
He was blaming her. She knew with certainty that he was holding her responsible for the massacre of his soldiers and for bringing death down around his head.
‘I serve you, lord,’ she said. ‘Anything, and everything, is for you... only you.’
‘I rue the day I bonded with you,’ he snapped back at her. ‘You’ve brought ruination.’
It was obvious that he felt no gratitude towards her. She had risked her own life running into the flames to drag him free. He showed no appreciation whatsoever for her foresight of bringing Hagen with them and, thus, having her magic at hand to raise the water from the sea and save what was left of the army, the wagons and their atomfire weapons. No – she could clearly see that he only felt resentment at her efforts.
Suddenly Analaision changed. Her eyes burned with reproach and her lip curled with disgust. She stiffened her spine and faced him with fury.
‘I bonded and mated with a fool,’ she spat at him. ‘A fool, I say. You rue the day we bonded?’ She gave a bitter laugh.
‘Well, husband, I rue it more.’
He recoiled from her, as if slapped, and instinctively lashed out with a fist.
She took the blow to the head, reeled on her feet, but stood her ground.
Hagen made to intervene, but she waved her back.
Damanaclee looked poised to strike her a second time but pulled back at the sheer power of the rage in her eyes. If she was a witch, he knew he would be stone dead at that moment. It gave him pause for thought.
He stared at her and some of his own anger dissipated. She had spoken to him as no female had ever dared to do. She had withstood the blow of his fist and refused to be rescued by the witch. She was either too stupid to realise the danger she was in, or she was simply angry, brave and a worthy warrior in her own right... and, he knew that she wasn’t stupid.
‘You will never be king without me,’ she said. ‘You may have the despot Petross’ blood flowing through your veins, but you don’t have what it takes to grab and keep the throne without me at your side. You need me and...’ She paused a moment – allowing her words to sink in – then, went on, ‘and you will do foolish things and make stupid decisions without my guidance and instruction.’
It was too much. His pride wouldn’t allow any more of her words to assail his ears, but he didn’t hit her again. Instead, he turned and stalked off, back towards what was left of his army.
She stood with Hagen and watched him go.
‘You went too far,’ Hagen said. ‘It’s obvious that my spell failed, and he will never forgive you for those words.’
‘I neither want, nor need, his forgiveness. All I want from him is his respect.’
‘A Plutonian?’ Hagen let out a raucous laugh. ‘Show me a
Plutonian male who respects any female and I’ll show you a Plutonian who’s not right in the head.’
‘He has to be more than the usual chauvinistic, misogynous Plutonian cretin, Hagen. He has to respect me as his equal or...’ She shook her head. ‘It will have all been for nothing.’ Her voice broke and she seemed to crumble. ‘I killed for him. I gave myself to him. I only demand his respect in return. Is it too much to ask?’
‘I fear that it is, my dear friend. I fear that he isn’t capable of going against what is ingrained in him.’
‘He must... he must...’
Hagen snorted and said, ‘He must do nothing of the sort. He’s lost a great deal more than a few soldiers this day. He’s lost face. You’ve stripped his face from him, and he’ll never forgive you.’
Analaision sniffed and shrugged. ‘I can give him back his face.’
‘How?’
‘By getting him the only thing, he craves... the throne. If I win it for him, he’ll have to respect me.’
‘Oh, Analaision...’ Hagen shook her head sadly. ‘Do you not understand the nature of the beast you bonded with? Do you not see that he would hate you all the more?’
Analaision eyed her friend balefully. ‘I know his nature well enough,’ she returned. ‘I know that he would see beyond the hurt to his pride if I gave him his heart’s desire.’
‘And, how do you plan on doing that? Do you not see the devastation wrought here?’
‘We were taken by surprise,’ she replied. ‘I now know what folly it was to come here without a proper strategy. I won’t make that mistake again.’
‘It was your husband’s mistake.’
‘It was just as much mine as his.’ She looked to where
Damanaclee stood a little distance off, his back turned to her. ‘He blames me completely, of course, but I blame myself almost as much as he does.’
‘You merely followed where he led.’ Hagen wasn’t prepared to stand idly by and watch as her friend shouldered even a tiny bit of the blame. ‘He is the soldier... the general... not you.’
She shrugged. ‘It no longer matters. What’s done is done. I have to think of a way to get him to listen to me... to agree to go back to the safety of our ships.’
‘I could bewitch him again.’
‘No. I don’t want that... not yet.’
They would have both been surprised to know what was on Damanacree’s mind as he stood sullenly looking out over the water-logged ground. They would’ve been shocked to learn that he was capable of a clarity of thinking that went beyond his mulish pride.
She’d named him fool, and the thought of her thinking that of him – although infuriating – was both sobering and shameful. That she’d dared to say it to his face was incredible.
She wanted him to skulk away with his tail between his legs, and that would make him a coward as well as a fool, and there was no place in his mind for that connotation. She was, however, right in one thing – he needed to regroup and plan.
As the smoke cleared and he could make out the extent of the damage done by the dragon, he was pleasantly surprised to see that most of the wagons and the atomfire weapons were unscathed. He estimated that two full columns of soldiers had been killed or badly injured, but that left him with over two thousand soldiers - perhaps more – so he was, by no means, beat.
He caught the eye of one of his lieutenants and gestured him over. ‘Get order restored,’ he said. ‘We march before the
sun sets.’
The lieutenant, a sombre young Plutonian, saluted crisply and marched off, yelling orders and commanding everyone to form lines.
Damanaclee then turned back to his wife, sighed, and called her to his side.
In a way, he was pleased that she didn’t approach him demurely. He had learned that he didn’t truly want a docile wife. He didn’t want an insubordinate one either, but – despite her words to the contrary – he was no fool. He had bonded knowing that she was a killer of husbands and that she was fearless in the pursuit of his dream of the throne. He didn’t underestimate her fervour or her cunning – and he even admitted to understanding her motives for everything she’d said and did – but he would choose his own path and, if she wanted to remain at his side, she would have to learn that her opinion and her advice would not always be invited or wanted.
He could see the bruise forming on her forehead and swallowed when he realised that she now had two – both caused by his hand. If he wasn’t careful he would kill her, and he wasn’t quite ready for that eventuality.
She was almost as tall as he, so her eyes were almost level with his. She stared at him, unblinking, and waited for him to speak.
‘We march to the royal castle,’ he said – his tone brooking no argument. ‘I want you to instruct your witch to apply whatever spells she can to make our journey an easy one.’
It was on the tip of her tongue to argue, but she thought better of it. Instead, she asked, ‘What of the dragon?’
‘What of it?’
‘It could kill us all.’
He shook his head. ‘I think not. ‘You’ve seen what our
atomfire can do. We’ll shoot it out of the sky before it gets a chance to get close enough to harm us.’
‘I think...’
‘I don’t care what you think,’ he put in. ‘If you can listen without attempting to confound me with your opinion, then I will share my plans with you. If you can keep your mouth shut and your eyes down, then I will confide in you. If not... if you persist in forcing your views on me... I’ll send you back to the ship and confine you to quarters.’
Far from being disheartened, Analaision was strangely pleased. He’d taken a step towards her – a step towards accepting her at his side. It was only a small metaphoric step, but a step nevertheless. He was prepared to talk to her, share things with her and – although he insisted that he wouldn’t listen to her and had no wish to be offered any advice – he’d recognised that she had some worth.
She’d called him a fool and lived. That, alone, told her far more than his outward show of belligerence. It showed her that there was hope.