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“You can’t wait?” Walaric exclaimed, sitting up in his bed in the infirmary. “I can feel my legs again. The doctors say with a few more days of rest I should be able to walk. After a couple of weeks maybe I can travel again.”
“It’s not that we want to leave you.” Godfrey frowned, exchanging a glance with Madeline. “We’ve just been at Narlstad for a while already, and the crusade needs to move on.”
“We spoke to Bishop Clovis,” Madeline added. “He will stay with you until you are fully recovered, then he’ll help you link up with us again.”
“And you’re pretty sure you can find Farthest Thule?” The tension in Walaric’s voice eased off. “And you can bring an army of elves back with you?”
“We have no idea how long this will take,” Madeline confessed. “But we are pretty sure Wyrmwind Peaks is the best place to start looking.”
“That’s why we can’t wait any longer.” Godfrey spread out his hands in an apologizing gesture. “Who knows what will happen to the crusade if we are gone too long.”
“The only thing we know for sure is that it’s not going in a good direction now,” Walaric agreed. “Bringing in some help may change that.”
“I really wish we could wait for you,” Madeline sighed.
“It’s all right.” Walaric waved dismissively. “Really, don’t worry about me.”
He laid himself back down in his bed, getting more comfortable.
“Oh Madeline,” Walaric added. “You can take Moon Frost with you.”
“Thanks, Walaric.” Madeline squeezed the acolyte’s hand briefly before turning to leave. “I know there’s not many horses to spare right now.”
“That’s why I’m letting you borrow Moon Frost,” Walaric said. “There’s not many to spare. I feel a lot better knowing Moon Frost will be with you than some knight I don’t know.”
“We’ll see you again soon,” Godfrey promised.
“Yeah.” Walaric cracked a smile. “Don’t do anything foolish without me.”
“How could anything foolish happen without you?” Godfrey winked before leaving the infirmary.
***
Setting out from Narlstad, Godfrey followed Madeline to the Wyrmwind Peaks. He rode Baruch while she rode Moon Frost. A sadness lurking in the back of his mind threatened to seep through his whole being. He suppressed the feelings of remorse by focusing on the trees on either side of the road. Madeline had been ambushed here not long before. Vigilance was required now.
“How are you doing?” she asked over her shoulder after a long period of silence.
“Well,” Godfrey answered without thinking.
“You haven’t said anything about your father’s death,” she noted. “Are you sure?”
“What is there to say?” Godfrey shrugged. “I have lost a lot of people I loved lately. Is there anything left to say?”
“How did he die?” Madeline slowed her horse to ride beside him.
In that moment, he realized he had been hiding his feelings of grief ever since he first heard his father died. Godfrey had kept busy as his father himself had suggested when his mother died. He had tried not to think about it. King Wilhelm’s seizure of Bastogne had overshadowed Duke Ulric’s death. The pain from that wrong transformed into an anger that made Godfrey’s jaw tighten. That anger was something he could focus on. He could eventually correct the wrong that caused it—once the crusade was over.
“Bishop Clovis tells me he died peacefully in his sleep.” Godfrey frowned. “I wish I could have been there. But so much has happened here too.”
“But you still miss him dearly.” She nodded in understanding. “I can tell he meant a lot to you.”
Godfrey nodded but said nothing. Swallowing hard, he hoped she would not notice. The pair rode in silence for a while.
“Right now I am a knight without a lord,” he said. Then after a pause he added, “I have no lands or titles; only my crusading vows.”
“You’re like a paladin,” she observed. “You are a lone warrior with only your patron god for your lord.”
“Exactly,” he agreed. “Did you ever hear the Tale of Cheldric?”
“Is that the one where King Lambert’s nephew dies with an arrow through the heart?” She tried to recall the details.
“That’s not how he dies in the version I know,” he replied, frowning. “Anyway, Cheldric is mostly worried about doing his duty to the King, right?”
“Yes,” she agreed.
“He goes through a lot of really hard things because that’s what duty is all about,” Godfrey continued. “Right now my duty is to the gods while on crusade. I promised to go through some really hard things, but the gods will reward my faith in the end.”
“They always do.” She made a pious gesture.
They continued riding side-by-side in silence again. The forest was quiet. After debating the issue in his head for some time, Godfrey decided it was actually warmer than when he first arrived in Azgald, though not by much.
Pulling back on Moon Frost’s reins, Madeline gestured for Godfrey to halt. She looked to her right, and he followed her gaze. A narrow dirt path led off the main road.
“There.” Madeline pointed to the path. “That will take us north up to the Wyrmwind Peaks.”
Godfrey had not spotted the path the first time he went down this road in search of Madeline, nor on their way back. It was much darker when he was on this part of the road the first time, so he was not surprised he had missed this detail. He also had not been looking for such paths the first time, he reminded himself.
“Well,” he said as he took the lead down the path. “There’s not much chance we’ll run across your father on this little trail.”
“That is to our advantage,” she agreed. “The road is mostly through wilderness from here. If we continue on narrow horse trails like this, we will avoid most towns and castles, but it will be faster than the larger roads.”
“Good thing we packed lots of provisions,” Godfrey thought aloud, slapping one of Baruch’s saddlebags.
The path was barely wide enough for the horses. Godfrey’s cloak caught on a stray branch more than once. This road had been used so infrequently that the forest had almost entirely reclaimed it.
As evening drew closer, Godfrey’s stomach began to growl with hunger. He sucked on his waterskin, hoping to stave off the sensation. It was something he had learned to do on many such treks as a squire. The emptiness of hunger would soon return, but Godfrey could put it off for a while this way.
“Let’s stop and eat,” Madeline suggested.
“Gladly.” He immediately stopped and dismounted Baruch. “I was just thinking about dinner too.”
Madeline dismounted Moon Frost and took a piece of tough salted beef from her bag. Godfrey, likewise, began chewing on a very similar piece of beef from his own satchel. The meat was sinewy, and he swallowed his bite hard. Reluctantly, he took another bite. This one was better. More of the beef strip was gristly sinew than not. He only finished eating it so that it would not go to waste. Still, it left him feeling sick rather than satisfied.
“Well...” Madeline’s hands were on her hips. “Aren’t you going to gather some firewood? I can set the blaze with my magic, but I can’t get all of the wood myself.”
“No fires.” Godfrey shook his head. “We don’t want to attract any attention.”
With a sigh, she finished eating her strip of meat. She gave Moon Frost a handful of grain from one of her saddlebags, and Godfrey followed suit with Baruch. The light was quickly fading now. Godfrey unpacked Madeline’s bedroll and laid it out for her before grabbing his own off Baruch.
“Thank you.” She pulled the bedroll around herself.
“I think there was something in the code of chivalry about treating women nicely,” he said, smirking.
“Isn’t chivalry all about courtly behavior?” She cocked her head.
“Actually,” he corrected, “it’s mostly about combat etiquette. Show respect to enemy knights, restraint when dealing with prisoners. There’s a lot more about challenging an enemy to a duel and resolving that in an honorable way than anything else really.”
“Oh.” Madeline had not considered much about chivalry outside of her own experience with it at court. “Did you think about how this must look to the crusaders?”
“How what must look?” he asked, surprised by the sudden change in topic.
“You lose your inheritance,” she started. “You promise to continue on the crusade, but then you run off by yourself. Surely some of the other crusaders must think you’ve deserted.”
“This was your idea,” he countered. “Besides, I didn’t run off by myself. I have you guiding me through the Nordslands.”
“That’s true.” She smiled. “I’m just saying we should hurry. If we take too long, doubt will start to spread. Desertion is contagious.”
“I know,” he concurred, wrapping himself in his bedroll. “But Turpin is a stern disciplinarian. He won’t suffer any desertions.”
***
The next morning, Godfrey awoke to see Madeline approaching with her cloak bunched up like a sack. Stretching, he sat up. With a smile, she spread her cloak out on the ground next to him.
“They’re ice berries,” she explained, revealing a mound of glossy red fruit in the center of her cloak. “They’re a bit sour even when ripe, but they’re very nutritious.”
“Thanks,” he said, eyeing the berries.
Tentatively plucking a berry from the pile, Godfrey popped it into his mouth whole. He discovered the skin of the berry was tough and flavorless as he probed it with his tongue. Biting down on the fruit, he was surprised at how thin the berry’s skin was despite its toughness. The sour berry juice immediately shocked his tongue. Instinctively, he almost spat it out, but he quickly became accustomed to the taste. Swallowing it, he noted Madeline was eating the berries two or three at a time.
“A bit sour is an understatement,” he complained, grabbing another berry.
“You get used to it.” She shrugged, popping a few more berries into her mouth.
“It’s better than that cut of beef at least,” he consoled himself. “Next time, we try some before setting out.”
She nodded in agreement.
A distinct chirping started up from some bushes not far from them. As she had said he would, Godfrey had quickly acquired the taste for ice berries, but they were not very filling. Madeline’s pile of foraged berries was quickly shrinking, and he yearned for something more than berries and trail rations.
“Are those pheasants?” He tilted his head in the direction of the chirping.
“I think so.” She turned in the direction of the sound.
“If I had brought a bow.” He gave a rueful smile. “But we can’t waste too much time foraging.”
“Watch this,” she said, and raised her eyebrows mischievously.
Holding her hand out in front of her, she faced the bush the pheasants were in. She concentrated on her hand. A small white orb of flame appeared, hovering just over her palm. Godfrey was prepared for something like this, but he took a step back all the same. With a look from her, the fire orb shot out from her hand, igniting the bush. The chirping momentarily turned into a horrid shriek, then went silent.
“There.” She turned back to him. “They’re already cooked.”
Godfrey stammered.
“I can’t do that all the time,” Madeline answered his unasked question. “It’s like running. If I do too much all at once, I get tired. But the more I do it, the easier it gets.”
“I see...” He hesitated.
“Go on.” She indicated the burned-out bush and pheasants. “Get them before they get too cold.”
Godfrey and Madeline continued along the trail for another four days. Remembering her prior warning back at Narlstad, he did not even think of trying anything unchivalrous with her. She occasionally used her fire spells to catch some animal to eat, but he grudgingly suggested she not use them too frequently, to avoid unwanted attention should anyone happen to be nearby. Second-rate trail rations would have to be their main food source.
Eventually, the two reached another larger road. Madeline told Godfrey it was the road to Pskov. They followed it west for two days before diverting to another horse trail moving to the northwest. After two more days on this trail, they reached a river.
“This is the Irelven.” She indicated the swift current. “This river serves as the boundary between Azgald and the Five Clans.”
“There is a ford we can cross just a little upstream.” He pointed. “We must be cautious crossing it.”
“Also,” she said, pointing to some distant mountains beyond the tree line, “those are the Wyrmwind Peaks. Another day and we’ll be at the mountains.”
“And Farthest Thule is somewhere up there.” He took in the grandeur of the tall, distant mountains.
“This is only the southernmost part of the Wyrmwind Peaks,” she said. “The mountain range extends north for more than a fortnight more.”
“And what is beyond that?” he wondered aloud.
“As far as we know, more mountains.” She frowned. “Much more beyond that, and we will have reached a land where there is snow all year long. It is too cold for men to stay for long, so anything farther than that is unknown to us.”
“Hence Farthest Thule,” he finished her thought.
Godfrey began crossing the babbling ford at a prudent pace with Madeline following close behind. One misstep and Baruch could be swept out from under him. When he was a squire, Fallard had told him more than one cautionary tale concerning the dangers of crossing streams and rivers too quickly.
At two thirds of the way across the ford, Godfrey heard several distinct twangs. He was confused as much as startled, unable to identify the sounds. A second series of twangs, and Godfrey saw the accompanying volley of whizzing crossbow bolts this time. The darts were coming from the woods on the other side of the bank. Spurring Baruch forward, he drew his sword.
Meeting an ambush head-on was always Godfrey’s first response. If he’d had a javelin or a bow, he might have fallen back to seek cover. But as it was, with more of the river behind Madeline and him than not, and no cover until they reached the shore, charging forward to neutralize the threat was the only immediately available option.
Even at the best spot he could find to ford, the river was perilously deep. Baruch’s charge through the water was labored and ineffective. The steed did not make it far.
Three bolts drove through Baruch one after another as fast as Godfrey could count them. Throwing him from the saddle, Baruch reared before crashing on his side into the water. Godfrey plunged into the water face-first. The frigid, murky current stung his skin. Pushing himself back to the surface, he coughed up the water caught in his lungs. He choked a moment more before regaining his bearings. The water was up to his armpits. There was no sign of Baruch.
Moon Frost was also nowhere to be seen. Madeline was next to the shoreline drenched from head to toe. Gouts of white-hot flame leapt from her outstretched fingers into the trees as she shouted incoherently. The hidden crossbowmen replied with squeals of surprise and sharp pain.
Sluggishly, Godfrey waded through the Irelven to catch up with Madeline. He still had Uriel in hand, and he unslung his shield from his back. As he progressed towards the shore, the water grew shallower. By the time the water was down to his shins, his movement was relatively unimpeded though his soaked clothing still weighed him down.
Madeline shot the white flames wildly from her hands at anything that moved through the trees. An orc in heavy mail armor rushed her, but she turned her fire on the unfortunate creature as soon as it caught her eye. The orc barely had time to gasp as it was incinerated.
Two more orcs came at her from her left and right sides simultaneously. Madeline launched a fireball at the one to her left, but the one to her right quickly closed in on her, raising its sword. With hardly a second to spare, Godfrey launched himself at the orc. Tackling the beast to the ground, he pummeled its face until it went limp.
Surprised, Madeline looked down at him and offered her hand. Taking it, he stood. His breathing was heavy. She was pale and shivering. The smell of scorched wood and burnt meat filled his nose. Knowing what that meaty smell was made him gag.
“I thought you were dead.” She looked him over.
“I’m not hurt,” Godfrey replied. “But the horses...”
“I know.” She frowned.
Madeline froze in place at the sound of movement. Godfrey turned in the direction of the sound. A tall woman in dark robes carrying a jeweled staff emerged from beyond the burnt foliage, flanked by a party of orcs with swords and crossbows.
“That’s Nera,” Madeline whispered frantically. “She’s the Great Witch of the North.”
“You were right, Urzg.” Nera turned to the orcs’ leader. “A fledgling sorceress has been burning her way through the woods.”
Urzg and his oath-warriors looked at the witch nervously. Their faith in their mistress and their own prowess was great, but they also saw what Madeline had done to their kin. Orcs were not fools.
“She’s all spent now,” Nera reassured the orcs. “Take her.”
Madeline gave Godfrey a nervous smile, confirming Nera was right. Raising his shield, he stepped in front of Madeline to protect her. There were ten or so orcs with Nera. They wore more armor than most orcs Godfrey had seen, and they carried themselves with a confidence he was unaccustomed to seeing in their race. Still, he was far more worried about the witch than the orcs.
A pair of the orc oath-warriors stepped in to meet Godfrey. He struck out at one, but the orc deflected his blade with a parry, and offered an immediate riposte. Unprepared for the disciplined strike coming from an orc, he felt the sting of the blade run across his shoulder. Feinting, Godfrey slashed the orc’s face, dropping it. The second orc thrust its blade at him, and he barely parried the blow. Their blades scraping against each other, Godfrey exchanged several blows with the second orc and a third that had taken the place of its fallen companion.
A blow to the helmet dazed Godfrey momentarily, but he cleaved into the torso of one of the orcs with a slash. Using his momentum, he thrust towards the next orc. Uriel hissed as the blade plunged into the beast. As Godfrey turned to the remaining orcs, their confidence vanished.
With a smirk, Nera waved her staff. Mimicking the motion of the staff, some unseen force lifted Godfrey off the ground and threw him into a nearby tree. He fell to the ground hard, the wind knocked out of him. Every part of him ached. Lying on his belly, he tried to stand, but he could not move. For a long moment all Godfrey could do was breathe motionlessly on the ground.
“Check him,” Nera ordered one of the orcs. “Make sure he’s dead.”
Complying with its lady’s command, an orc crunched through the snow towards Godfrey. The creature stopped and hunched over his prone form, sniffing suspiciously. After a moment, the orc stood and gave him a sharp swift kick. Anticipating this, Godfrey gritted his teeth to avoid crying out. Satisfied Godfrey was dead, the orc returned to Nera.
“Such a disappointing end.” Nera huffed contemptuously. “Well, Alvir will be happy to know you’re dead at least.”
Screaming, Madeline ran toward Godfrey, but the orcs intercepted her. They dragged her in front of the witch. Realizing her struggle was useless, Madeline stopped resisting.
“What do you want with me?” Madeline glared at Nera defiantly.
“You will help me awaken Vozzab.” Nera smirked.
“The legends...” Madeline’s eyes narrowed in understanding.
“Magic runs through your blood,” Nera continued. “And dragon-slayers are also in your blood, Madeline of Pavik. Yes, we have sought you long, but we only had to wait for you to come to our lands.”
With a swift gesture, Nera signaled for the orcs to take Madeline away. Nera followed her and the orcs. Having watched the exchange from the corner of his eye, Godfrey realized they were beginning to leave. He attempted to stand, but only managed to raise himself up with one arm. He collapsed, losing consciousness.
***
Godfrey awoke several hours later. It was dark. He was still in the woods. The fires had put themselves out long ago, and the scent of smoke and burnt flesh had dissipated. Standing, he heard the current of the Irelven behind him. He remembered where he was.
“But how can I chase after them on foot?” he muttered.
Wiping dried blood from his nose, Godfrey limped in the direction he thought Nera had taken Madeline. He had no way of knowing if this was even really the right way. They could have turned onto a path Godfrey could not now see. He did not even know where they had gone. His only clue was something about awakening someone named Vozzab.
After fumbling through the dark for longer than even Godfrey thought was rational, he tripped over a fallen tree branch. He fell with his head hitting the mud first. Only his spangenhelm’s flared nose guard prevented any serious injury to his face. He stood. Kicking the branch, he screamed at the top of his lungs.
He could not follow Madeline. She was captured with no chance of rescue. Walaric was back at Narlstad. Baruch was dead. His father and mother were dead. Godfrey could not even begin to try to find his way back to the crusade. He had not the slightest clue how he was going to find Farthest Thule.
Silently, he cursed himself for letting Madeline talk him into such a vain and foolish quest. He should have stuck with the crusade. That would have been far more practical.
Godfrey had let some stupid notion of being the champion of the gods trick him into believing fate would somehow lead him right to Farthest Thule. He had thought he could just walk into the city gates unopposed. The elves, with their millennia-long lives and wisdom to match, would surely listen to a pair of human youths. Or so Godfrey had thought until now. Now it all seemed so foolish. Hot tears of rage burned in his eyes at not thinking this through further.
“What am I supposed to do now?” He shook his fist at the sky.
The stars stared back cold and silent.
***
The orcs dragged Madeline through the woods. Tripping over a tree root, Madeline stumbled a few paces as the orcs gruffly shoved her on. The brute Nera had identified as Urzg grunted something to the witch Madeline did not quite understand. Glancing back at Madeline, Nera halted, and the orcs followed suit. Procuring a set of copper manacles, Nera removed Madeline’s gloves, and bound her wrists with the curious object.
“Copper drains your powers,” Nera responded to Madeline’s bewildered expression. “You’ll find that as long as these manacles touch your skin, you won’t be able to burn any more of Urzg’s oath-warriors.”
“I didn’t know copper could do that.” Madeline looked at the manacles skeptically.
“There is a lot about magic Azgaldians don’t know.” Nera sneered. “They put so much emphasis on restraint. It’s no wonder a young sorceress like you has no idea how far your powers could extend or what limits you really have.”
Madeline frowned.
“Did your parents instruct you to hide your powers because people would not understand?” Nera rolled her eyes. “Have you ever been called a witch? People fear magic, and they should. But in the Five Clans, magicians have power. In your home, you must either conceal your powers or live as an outcast.”
“Suffer not the witch to live,” Madeline muttered.
She remembered the ancient commandment. Witchcraft was rare, and old laws concerning magic were not always strictly enforced. Yet there was a certain truth to Nera’s words as Madeline had told Godfrey back at Vindholm. Even if there was much Madeline would disagree with Nera on regarding religion, leadership, and a thousand other topics, she was right about Azgaldians’ fear of magic.
“But look at you,” Madeline continued. “Aren’t witches like you exactly why people are afraid of magic? You abuse your powers to scare your subjects into submission.”
“And King Lothar’s armies don’t scare his subjects into submission?” Nera countered. “The only law in this world is force. A shame you were not born into Clan Black Dragon. I could have reached you much earlier, shaped you into more than you are now; constrained by dogma.”
“What do you intend for me?” Madeline asked. “You can’t possibly think I’ll willingly help you awaken Vozzab?”
“You don’t have to be willing to fulfill your role in awakening Vozzab.” The slightest hint of pity betrayed Nera’s voice. “All the same, it’s the most important service anyone could ask to render for the children of the gods.”
Madeline shuddered at the far-off look in Nera’s eyes as she made that statement. The witch came to herself, shaking her head. With a guttural command, Nera resumed the march. The orcs followed, shoving Madeline along with them.
Nera and the orcs stopped their march well after dark. Some of the orcs began chomping down on maggot-infested bread, while others drank foul-smelling ales from flasks. However, Urzg shoved Madeline against a tree trunk at the edge of their campsite without the slightest hint of compassion.
“Not so tight,” Madeline complained as Urzg bound her to the tree.
Urzg snorted in reply as he tightened the rope around Madeline.
“Nera called your soldiers oath-warriors.” Madeline looked into Urzg’s pale eyes. “Why?”
“When an orc host assembles for war...” Urzg’s reply was gruff; his tongue not accustomed to speaking in Madeline’s language. “Most orcs must be forced to fight for their chieftains. Oath-warriors train every day to fight for their chieftain, and are eager to honor their oaths to fight for the chieftain and the tribe. Because of their oaths, the tribe gives them the best weapons and armor it has.”
“It separates the honorable from the base,” Madeline deduced. “It’s like the Nordsmen’s berserkers or Azgald’s knights. They train harder for war than the commoners and occupy a place of privilege because of it.”
“Orcs don’t have mercy,” Urzg laughed. “We do not spare the weak because of pity. The weak are to be enslaved to serve their betters. Woe to the vanquished.”
“Perhaps that’s why the orcs here are enslaved to the Clans.” She gave Urzg a hard look. “Anyone can destroy something. Not everyone can build something to last. That takes a bit more virtue than simple conquest.”
Urzg spat contemptuously. With a grimace, the orc turned and walked away. She had struck the orc chieftain’s pride in a way neither had anticipated.
After two days marching through the Wyrmwind Peaks, Madeline caught her first glimpse of what she guessed was her destination. It was a fortress with high walls and tall towers, its appearance not sinister like a castle of Nordsman construction, yet too fine to have been built by the men of Azgald.
“We aren’t going to Drammon?” Madeline gasped, recognizing what this might mean for her beliefs about Farthest Thule. “The elves built this.”
“Olso Fortress has changed hands many times after the elves abandoned it,” Nera confirmed. “But not even the elves knew what has been resting in the caverns beneath.”
“Vozzab is in a cave under the castle?” Madeline gave the slightest tremble.
“I’ll show you.” Nera smirked.
Alvir, Nera, Warden Tarik, Urzg, and a few dwarf and goblin miners led Madeline into a vast, dark cavern deep below Olso Fortress. The miners shook in apparent terror. Madeline could hardly blame them for not wanting to be down here. It took what appeared to Madeline to be the strongest forms of persuasion Alvir and Nera could think of to convince the miners to lead them to this place after they discovered it. And to say that this pair knew some strong forms of persuasion would be an understatement.
Alvir smirked at the miners’ discomfort. What a rare reversal, dwarves quivering underground. Still, Madeline found nothing funny about the irony of their situation.
“I told you.” Nera wagged her finger at Alvir. “I saw it in the runes. I saw it in the clouds and entrails. I knew he would be down here.”
“I didn’t doubt you,” Alvir protested, throwing up a placating hand. “Miners, you are dismissed. Go.”
The dwarves and goblins hastily obliged. Scrambling back up the rocky tunnel whence they came, the miners were gone a moment later. They did not even bother looking back. Alvir snorted. Madeline probably would have followed the miners if Urzg had not had such a firm grip on the copper manacles which had bound her wrists since she was first captured.
The High Warlord took a step forward. Gusts of hot, steamy air pulsed rhythmically through the cavern. As Alvir brandished his torch out into the darkness, Madeline spotted what had spooked the miners so much.
It was gargantuan. Matte black scales covered its face, while a single, thick, bone-colored horn protruded from its snout. Its leathery wings were folded around its body, and the creature’s eyes were closed.
“What a sight to come home to.” Alvir peered at the slumbering dragon. “This will change everything. All the clans will bow to us. Azgald will be destroyed.”
“And that is only the beginning,” Nera concurred.
“And now what do we do with it?” Tarik asked nervously.
Urzg’s grip on Madeline’s chain tightened. She saw the look in the orc’s eye. She saw the same look in Warden Tarik. They knew just as well as Madeline that whatever scheme Alvir and Nera were planning was pure madness.
“Show some respect for this child of the dark gods,” Nera hissed.
“How do we make use of the dragon?” Alvir insisted.
“It will take a great deal of preparation to rouse him from his slumber,” Nera explained. “This creature might normally sleep up to a thousand years before hunger awakens him.”
“Him?” Tarik asked.
“This is Vozzab,” Nera replied. “There’s no doubt about it. Look at the scar across his snout where the angel, Othniel, struck him in battle.”
Alvir nodded appreciatively. Madeline was somehow not surprised the witch knew so much about dragons, and she too knew the legend of the titanic duel between the angel and dragon. It was a tragedy Azgaldian children were told from an early age, though Madeline suspected Nera had a different perspective on the story.
“Vozzab’s home is supposed to be here in the Wyrmwind Peaks,” Tarik agreed.
Urzg nodded in assent, his nerves visibly beginning to calm.
“So we need to...” Alvir began.
“Prepare a great sacrifice.” Nera frowned. “Propitiating a dragon is a very precise ritual. If any detail concerning the ceremony is out of place, Vozzab will not accept.”
“And if he doesn’t?” Madeline asked.
“Then all our lives are forfeit.” Nera shrugged. “Not just yours.”
The beast was as majestic as it was large. It was as ancient as it was deadly with its razor-sharp claws and bone-crushing teeth. Did Alvir really believe he and Nera could control a creature that could wound the gods themselves? Their plans depended on such audacity. Madeline was just as astounded by their hubris as she was by the dragon himself.
“How long?” Alvir took another step closer to the dragon.
“I began making the necessary preparations as soon as we told the miners to begin excavating the tunnels,” Nera answered. “A few more days is all it should take.”
The High Warlord stretched his hand out and patted the dragon’s nose. Tarik gasped in surprise at this brazen gesture. Urzg took an instinctive step back, and Madeline’s legs felt weak. Only Nera appeared unmoved. Rubbing the dragon’s hard scales, Alvir himself appeared to momentarily question whether he was simply displaying his bravado or growing mad. Vozzab did not stir.
“So why is it you need to sacrifice me specifically?” Madeline’s curiosity got the best of her. “That is why you have been trying to capture me, isn’t it? You need to sacrifice me to Vozzab, right?”
“We cannot just awaken Vozzab,” Alvir noted, slowly removing his hand from the dragon’s cold face. “We need to make sure he serves us when he does awaken.”
“You are an ideal sacrifice because of the deeds of your ancestors.” Nera turned to Madeline. “If we sacrifice a person who has slain a dragon or is the descendant of someone who has, then Vozzab will agree to do our bidding. A dragon also loves magical blood spilt in his name. So you see we have two very good reasons for electing you to this honor.”
Both Clansmen and Azgaldians considered it prestigious to marry into the families of dragon-slayers; Madeline knew that much. Over the course of several generations, there seemed to be no shortage of lords or ladies who did not have some trace amount of dragon-slayer in their blood. However, Madeline supposed that a direct line descendant such as her might be considered a purer sacrifice. She just had to take Nera’s word on the magical blood part.
“The Duchy of Pavik borders on Clan Black Dragon’s holdings,” Madeline observed. “My father won’t be long once he finds out you have me.”
“Were you not listening?” Nera shot back. “It will be far too late by the time he arrives. His whole army will be able to do nothing against Vozzab’s strength.”
“In fact,” Alvir thought aloud, “I would love to see the look on your father’s face when he comes to rescue you, only to find a dragon waiting for him instead.”
“I’ll send word to the Duke of Pavik demanding a ransom in return for his daughter,” Tarik offered.
“Yes,” Alvir agreed to the scheme. “Of course Tancred would never pay a ransom, but he would certainly march on anyone who took his precious daughter.”
Madeline was not going to argue against the High Warlord’s cruel reasoning for extending her life. More time meant a greater chance for her to escape. She would think of something before long. Getting rid of these cursed copper restraints would be the first step. At first she had not noticed any difference with the manacles binding her wrists, but after a while they’d left her feeling agitated, thirsty, and itchy. She had no desire for any sort of copper jewelry if she made it through this.
“You live for now.” Alvir pointed at Madeline. “But you will die knowing Vozzab’s first victims will be your father and his men.”