The Return of the Dragonhawk

Chapter 44 --Prevail or Die Together

"What nonsense be this?" the elder Drawyn stormed.

Alyn grinned, sympathizing with his bad mood. Despite all his father's orders and threats, and even a blow or two, young Drawyn had steadfastly refused to be left behind. Now Alyn, too, was defying the elder Drawyn's edict that he alone would ride with Griss.

"I will ride with you as far as Dragonhold Pass," she said, "out of friendship."

"It be too cold and blizzardy fer you!"

"If it turns worse, I will spend the night in the garrison."

Snorting with disgust -- heartfelt, or feigned? -- Drawyn turned his attention to his saddle girth. He did not speak to her again until they were almost in sight of the Dragonhold. She rode stirrup-to-stirrup with him the while, saying nothing, waiting him out.

"Hear me, woman," he said finally.

"Yes?"

"Do not be throwing yer life away for nothing."

"My advice exactly," she said, letting a note of frustration creep into her voice. For all her heavy pondering, she had thought of no way to hold him without armed force or advanced spell-casting.

"That Acontis -- not much to look at, but true-hearted. You be well advised to marry him."

Alyn's heart tore. "I may do that," she said as lightly as she could manage, "if you will stand up with me."

Drawyn let his face relax in a smile. "So be it. But do not tarry. The times be uncertain."

"Look!" Young Drawyn, who had been minding his own business on the other side of his father, pointed forward. A pillar of black smoke rose from the other side of the rise.

"A fire?" Alyn asked in alarm.  Could something be amiss at the Dragonhold garrison? It was built into the mountainside, but there was wood enough in the structure for a conflagration, especially if flames broke out near the volatile magical weapons.

Two more columns of smoke billowed on the horizon. "What be burning like that in the dead of winter?" Drawyn asked.

At the head of the column, Griss picked up the pace. Everyone followed close on his heels, eager to see. As soon as they topped the rise, the lead horses stopped dead, blocking the way. The other riders goaded their mounts through the virgin snow by the roadside, until the entire party was spread raggedly along the brow of the hill.

Before Alyn's horse had climbed up far enough for her to see anything, Griss shouted at a pair of his men, sending them galloping back the way they had come. Something dire, then, requiring a report to the Dragonkeeper himself. She urged her mount forward, hoping the snow hid no treacherous holes that could break his leg.

With a final effort, her horse bucked through a drift to the top of the hill. She pulled him up and stared, patting his neck absent-mindedly.

The Dragonhold garrison was under attack.

The road and the plain around it were covered with Halgrim's soulless black-clad soldiers under the direction of a dozen mounted officers and mages who kept themselves well back from the action. The defenders in the garrison were shooting arrows and lobbing fiery balls of pitch, with little effect. The attackers would not be in easy weapons range until they had climbed the pass. From there, the going would be hard, over rough ground, but the sheer force of numbers was so overwhelming that there was little doubt as to the final outcome. The soulless ones were expendable and had no sense of self-preservation. The magical bombs stored in the garrison would delay the inevitable, but not prevent it.