The Citadel Read online

  “I don’t see anything!” he called to his companion.

  “Nor anything on this end!” Leot shouted from behind him. “Could it be a false alarm?”

  “I don’t know.…” Tyros stared up at the heavens, where the clouds had become so thick and dark that water seemed to come down in clumps the size of men.

  He suddenly leaned out the window, unmindful of the drenching he received. Those were figures drifting down in the storm, figures with wings!

  Only one creature came to mind. “Draconians! Dropping through the clouds!”

  “What?” Leot appeared at his side. Both humans watched in horror as winged figure after winged figure glided toward the rooftops of Gwynned. They alighted onto some of the taller buildings, immediately trying to secure their hold.

  Where did they come from? Fortunately, most draconians could not truly fly, and even if some of these invaders did have the ability, they certainly couldn’t carry so many of their lesser brethren with them. Had dragons carried them here? It was a possibility, but for so many draconians, the attackers would have needed a hundred of the leviathans.

  Tyros couldn’t fathom that being the case, and so that left only one option. He studied the clouds, looking for a telltale shape.

  At last he saw it, drifting in and out of the dark clouds, tiny aerial figures diving from its base. An astonishing sight to see, even for one who had seen it before.

  A castle in the sky. This one stood tall and narrow, yet even from a distance, Tyros could see that one of its towers had collapsed and another leaned threateningly. Still, despite the damage it had suffered in some past battle, it no doubt filled the hearts of many below with fear.

  A flying citadel. The secret of creating such floating castles had been known to mages and clerics of both darkness and light for centuries, only to be lost and then rediscovered from time to time. In this case, the entire castle had been ripped from the surrounding ground, an island of earth coming up with it. The island likely contained the dungeons and underground passages that had been built along with the original structure. One ruined citadel that Tyros had investigated had even included the family tombs, resulting in a ghoulish array of skeletal corpses at the scene of the flying castle’s crash.

  Up in the citadel, Tyros knew, a wizard or a cleric, perhaps both, guided the behemoth. Officers of the dragonarmies would be commanding archers to rain death down upon the city. More draconians would be leaping to the ground below. Of course, to the fortress’s human commanders, the draconians were merely fodder, to be used to open the way for their masters.

  The flying citadel rocked in the increasingly harsh winds, its operator no doubt having to struggle. Tyros peered at what seemed to be the tallest remaining tower. Inside would be what someone had termed the Wind Captain’s Chair, the place where a chosen one would actually pilot the edifice. Tyros strained futilely in an attempt to hear the chanting of the wizards and clerics aboard, an essential part of keeping the citadel afloat. Deep inside, some sort of arcane device would be aiding their task, but the ruined citadels he had studied had not left enough for him to understand just how that device might work.

  To be up there now … Even with Gwynned under siege, the ambitious spellcaster dreamed of investigating the leviathan. Yet to reach it, he would have needed a castle of his own. A castle or …

  “Where are they?” he muttered.

  “Where are who?” Leot asked. Realization dawned. “Oh! You mean—”

  Tyros thrust his hand out into the downpour, pointing to the dark skies. “Sunfire!”

  Like a fiery comet soaring through the storm, a great golden dragon raced toward the flying citadel. Sunfire made his home in a cave in the mountains to the east, and since the war, he had made a pact with Gwynned and the surrounding areas to protect the entire region. In return, the people of Northern Ergoth respected his privacy and, on occasion, presented him with food.

  “I wouldn’t like to be riding him today!” remarked Leot.

  Tyros would have traded anything to be astride the golden dragon’s back, but that honor this day went to three men more versed in such feats. In combat, the great golden dragon often carried one human rider, generally a knight with a lance. However, against a citadel such as this, three men generally rode, men prepared for what amounted to a suicide mission in many ways. With Sunfire’s aid, they would try to board the castle, choosing as their target the highest tower. Tyros himself had determined from past experience that the highest tower inevitably contained the chamber housing the Wind Captain’s Chair. The chosen warriors, veterans all, would do their best to seize control of that chamber. At the very least, they would try to destroy it … even at the cost of their own lives.

  Such had been the plan that Tyros himself had designed and suggested more than a year earlier. It had worked once, although those men had perished in bringing their target down. That in itself had tarnished the Red Robe’s vaunted reputation somewhat, but no one could deny that his plan had succeeded. Still, it had irked Tyros that some blamed him more for the three lives lost than the many saved.

  Sunfire alone, though, fulfilled only half of Tyros’s plan. He scanned the heavens, looking for the other half … and spotted what he sought. Glisten, Sunfire’s sparkling mate, dived down past the other dragon, two men no doubt on her back. She looked as if she sought to roost on the underside of the citadel, which the female would do if that proved possible, but her true mission also concerned those aboard her. Sunfire’s humans had a tactical mission in mind; Glisten’s were there to see that they would have the chance to succeed.

  Glisten carried mages, veteran war wizards. No youngster such as Tyros, even though he had devised many of the very routines that they would utilize. The dragon himself had vetoed the presence of Tyros, insisting that he would only trust human wizards with robes of white.

  “No human who wears robes of blood will battle at my side!” the gold had rumbled, heedless of the insult he had thrown at Tyros. “White follows the light and black the darkness, but red wavers too much in the middle, a friend who might suddenly become a foe!”

  The words remained burned in Tyros’s memory even now. He knew that members of his order, if they chose a different path, had a tendency to lapse toward the black robes more than the white. Such defections had occurred just before the start of the war and had left a stain on the Order of Lunitari, god of neutral magic. That the dragon would respect the followers of Solinari, god of white magic, Tyros had understood, but Sunfire almost gave the black robes of Nuitari more respect than the red robes, even though the former were the enemy.

  “I should be up there,” he muttered. He could have proven to Sunfire that some followers of Lunitari could be trusted.

  Leot pulled him back into the tower. “Forget such a foolish notion, Tyros! If you want to play a part in this battle, we can do so from down here, and it’s time we begin, at that!”

  Tyros blinked, staring at the rotund White Robe. He had never seen Leot so possessed. Suddenly the bearded, balding figure no longer looked so clownish. Tyros recalled that some of Leot’s own order rode atop Glisten and understood his friend’s determination.

  Still, thoughts of the flying citadel again pulled Tyros to the window, despite his companion’s protests. He looked up but could see neither the dragons nor the castle.

  “Tyros!”

  “Go on without me!” he finally snapped at Leot. “I’ll be there soon. I promise!”

  The other spellcaster eyed his friend briefly. Then, with a frustrated expression, Leot turned and left the chamber.

  Tyros at last located the flying citadel. Sunfire flew above it, trying to come near enough to land his precious crew. Glisten circled about the fortress, flashes of light occasionally bursting around her as she and her companions kept the mages and archers in the castle occupied.

  A dark form moved from the clouds. Tyros’s first thought was that an enemy dragon had joined the fray. Then he saw that the invaders had not o
ne but two flying citadels, which helped explain the large number of draconians dropping out of the sky. The invaders had thrown all they could at Gwynned.

  Neither dragon had noticed the second citadel, but instead of aiding its counterpart, the newcomer shifted away from the battle. Tyros studied the second fortress and saw why. It looked more battle-worn than the first and wobbled in the high winds. A few winged figures dived from its battlements, but otherwise it seemed almost empty. Against the dragons, it wouldn’t have had a chance.

  Tyros had just begun to turn his attention back to the first citadel when he noted yet another form lurking in the clouds. A third citadel? He doubted that the invaders could have so many at their command.

  A sleek, ebony shape emerged from the clouds above Glisten.

  A black dragon. A male, and young, too. Although it was only two-thirds the size of Sunfire, the black had the advantage of surprise over the massive gold’s mate. Tyros pictured savage claws rending the wings of the female. Despite the ludicrousness of his actions, the mage could not help leaning out to shout a warning. “Above! Look out from above!”

  Glisten, of course, couldn’t hear him. Tyros gripped the frame of the window as he watched the inevitable.

  However, Sunfire, who had been hovering over the high tower, suddenly turned from his task, barely managing to come between the treacherous dragon and Glisten. Startled, the black reluctantly grappled with his larger foe, the advantages of both size and surprise now on the side of the defenders. Sunfire snapped at his adversary, barely missing the black dragon’s throat. The two males spun in a loop, their great maws snapping, claws raking.

  Then, to Tyros’s horror, another black dragon, identical to the first, appeared. The second beast fell upon Sunfire’s back, sinking talons into the golden male. Sunfire roared in agony, suddenly caught between the black pair.

  Glisten immediately came to his rescue, and she wasn’t alone. A flash of light, no doubt cast by one of her wizards, burst before the eyes of the dragon grappling with Sunfire, a flash that so startled the black that he lost his grip on the gold. Glisten used that shock to her advantage, barreling into the second attacker with such ferocity that he went tumbling through the air, unable to control his flight.

  Realizing that he now faced two golden dragons better versed in aerial combat than he was, the remaining black tried to flee, Sunfire, though, would have none of that. With his talons, he caught the younger leviathan by the tail and pulled. The black let out a howl that reminded Tyros more of a whipped dog than a deadly dragon.

  An explosion momentarily lit up the sky. The top of the first citadel had vanished in a flash of white light. Sunfire’s riders had managed to drop onto the tower after all. The explosion, no doubt some alchemical liquid or a special spell by one of his fellow wizards, meant that the men had sacrificed themselves, but in doing so they had mortally wounded the flying castle. Devoid of its steering mechanism, it began to spin around crazily, heading in almost madcap fashion toward the sea. Judging by the arc of its flight, it would eventually drop some miles offshore.

  Paying no heed to the devastated citadel, Sunfire and Glisten took hold of their hapless foe and, while the black roared in vain, threw the creature end over end toward the second castle.

  In that moment of triumph, Tyros heard a thump on the roof. The wizard stiffened at first, then looked up at the ceiling, his hand already forming a fist and his mouth whispering words of power.

  Winged forms burst through three of the stained-glass windows. Draconians.

  Tyros could read both the determination and desperation in their eyes; they had to know that they would likely die this night, the citadel offering no escape, but they would perform their duties regardless.

  That present duty concerned slaying the mage before them.

  Two were baaz, draconians known for their sadistic manner, but without any skill at magic. Unfortunately the third appeared to be a bozak, crafty and with a talent for spells of fire and air. All had the same general look of dragons turned halfway into men, but the baaz appeared more brutal, with scales like tarnished, dull brass. The bozak, on the other hand, stood taller and slimmer, more proud, and his eyes blazed with more intelligence than those of his companions. His scales had a more tanned looked to them, like old and faded bronze.

  Tyros and the bozak cast spells at the same time. A hand of fire meant to seize Tyros went effortlessly through the wizard, unfortunately setting scrolls on the table afire and singeing the furniture. Where the bozak failed, though, the mage in part succeeded. The smoking table flew at the two baaz, crushing them against the wall.

  Tyros grimaced; the spell had been aimed at the bozak, but the creature had anticipated the results and sacrificed his lesser brethren instead. Still, Tyros felt certain that he could handle one bozak if …

  Through the remaining windows, including the one nearest where the wizard stood, more draconians burst in, two of them colliding with the human from behind. Tyros gasped as the force of the collision pushed the air from his lungs. He and one of the invaders tumbled to the floor. Draconian claws seized him by the wrists and head, dragging him upward again.

  “Alive!” a reptilian voice shouted. “Alive!”

  The chamber filled with a brilliant light, one that sent the draconians hissing. Those holding onto the Red Robe released him in order to shield their eyes, nearly causing Tyros to crack his skull on the floor. He tried to rise, but his breath had not yet returned to him.

  “Tyros! To me!”

  “Le-Leot?” Straining, the battered spellcaster looked up to see his rotund friend standing at the door, arms outstretched. Light literally flowed from Leot’s hand, a brilliance that seemed to disturb the draconians far more than Tyros.

  “Hurry!”

  A roar shook the tower just as Tyros managed to rise. Part of the ceiling collapsed. As startled as the draconians seemed by the incident, they did not suffer as much as Leot, who stood just below one of the falling fragments. Wood and plaster struck the White Robe, and with a groan, he dropped to his knees. The light that had so offended the dragon men instantly vanished.

  “Leot!” The friend who had saved him now lay injured at the feet of the draconians. Cursing, Tyros struggled to regain his concentration. He couldn’t let them take Leot.

  Two baaz seized the White Robe, pulling him to his feet. Tyros saw with horror that blood caked Leot’s head, and his eyes stared without seeing. The heavy set mage still breathed, but how long that would continue remained debatable.

  The two draconians hissed, shock in their reptilian eyes as they released their hold on the stunned mage. In their minds, Leot’s arms had become hissing pythons. Tyros immediately cast a second spell in order to keep Leot from crashing to the floor, then took another breath as he readied himself for the bozak’s next attack.

  Another roar shook the tower. More of the ceiling caved in. One draconian fell, crushed by a beam. Tyros started to rise, then saw the bozak readying his spell.

  The room began to break apart.

  Animosities were forgotten as everyone sought to escape. One baaz tried for the nearest window, but it crumbled as he leapt through, killing the creature in the process. A second draconian was crushed by a beam.

  Tyros started for Leot, only to have strong, clawed hands seize him from behind. He turned, thinking the bozak had attempted some last attack … and instead found himself staring into the eyes of a horror the likes of which he couldn’t recall ever confronting before.

  The monster before him, which seemed to expand in size as it spread its wings, had some resemblance to a draconian, but only in general shape. Red, pupilless eyes flared and a long, beaklike maw opened, revealing row upon row of jagged teeth. Twin horns jutted from the leathery creature’s head. The claws that had seized Tyros had only four digits, but its talons were sharper and more hooked than those of a draconian. In build, it more resembled the slim form of the bozak than the baaz, but its taut muscles indicated that, matched o
ne to one, either draconian would have faced an uphill struggle with this horrific intruder.

  The creature raised a clawed hand, as if seeking to rip Tyros’s face from his head. The frantic spellcaster raised his own hand, magic energy crackling around his fist.

  “Fooooolll …” the gray abomination hissed.

  Tyros struck as the remainder of the tower collapsed.

  Chapter 2

  Troubled Waters

  A debacle. An utter debacle.

  General Cadrio stared in the direction of Gwynned, a prize lost. None of his officers dared speak, knowing that in their commander’s present mood, it might prove a fatal mistake. Not even Zander dared approach him, even when word came from the lookout that Eclipse and Murk had escaped death and now slunk back to join the invasion force. Just ahead of the ships sailed, rather erratically, the one surviving citadel, battered and nearly unable to fly.

  How the Blue Lady would have laughed at the sight of his ignominious defeat. He had thought that attacking when he had would catch Gwynned, fairly untouched by the war, nearly defenseless. The gold dragons should have been far to the northeast, aiding in the Solamnic advance there. So much for military intelligence.

  The storm continued to rock the fleet, but Cadrio didn’t care. He had given orders to sail until they could make landfall on a tiny uncharted island far to the north of Ergoth, and that meant a journey of several days in rough seas. With Gwynned lost, he had no new plans. There was always that offer made by the mage, but even Cadrio had limits to his madness.