The Royal Dragoneers: 2016 Modernized Format Edition (Dragoneers Saga) Read online

  All of this was news to Linux, and it meant he had to get near King Blanchard and get him alone just as soon as he possibly could. He didn’t have to worry about Commander Corda seeing him now, and that was a welcome relief, for what he was about to do was sheer treachery. He had to do what he intended before the king went charging off into the frontier with an army of ill-prepared boys. Linux knew he would regret it, but he saw no other choice.

  “Which ship is the king’s ship?” Linux asked loudly, but he eased back from the rail into obscurity when the man looked up for the asker. Somewhere behind them, way out at sea, thunder rumbled long and low.

  “That three mast’d cutter called Moonseye,” the man looked out with his hand held over his eyes, trying to shield them from the drizzle that had started to fall. He didn’t see who he was talking to, but he pointed out the ship that was easing into a dock ahead of the others. It was a good distance away, and the rain was now starting to fall in earnest.

  Transporting oneself over water was always a risky business, but Linux felt that the risk, in this instance, was worth the gain. If he didn’t do something, all of the men on these ships would soon be feeding the enemy. He didn’t feel he had a choice. He only hoped that Zah and Jenka would be about to help Prince Richard, and that Mysterian and Vax Noffa wouldn’t hold it against him when he removed King Blanchard from the equation. It was the wisest thing to do, he reasoned. And with that thought, he stepped from the deck of the ship he was on across half a mile of open harbor, right onto the deck of the Moonseye. He appeared directly in front of the wide-eyed king of the realm and began pushing him. He carried the big man right over the ship’s rail into a tumbling fall, where they splashed hard in the warm, salty water.

  Half a dozen men leaped in after them to protect their king, another half dozen dove in and surrounded the man who had attacked him. One of the rescuers had been wearing armor, and several men followed in to pull him up from the bottom before he drowned. They hesitated when they saw the tattoos on Linux' face, now clearly visible since the water had washed the makeup from his skin.

  “Bah,” King Blanchard bellowed, trying to shake off some of the hands that were grabbing at him. “I can swim, man! Back off! I want that man taken to shore and gagged! He’s full o’High Magic. Bind him, gag him, and then put him in the strongest cell you have, and stay clear of it until I get there! But don’t harm him none. Not even a boot tip! That’s an order!”

  Linux almost laughed at how easy it had been to do what he had just done. He only wished he had thought of it sooner.

  Part IV

  Gravelbone's Revenge

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “The best way to describe it is a stalemate, Your Majesty,” a nervous sergeant said as King Blanchard and his slightly confused retinue stood on the top of the Great Wall in the pouring rain. They were looking out at the smoldering ruins of Outwal. The precipitation had quelled most of the fires, leaving a steamy, smoking, ash-coated mess.

  From somewhere deep in the wreckage, a troll brazenly barked out to its pack mates. As the man spoke, several other trolls returned the call. “If we go out and try to reclaim anything, they attack the gates. They’ve even managed to hurl burning timbers onto the wall top, and the trolls that have taken to riding the dragons are treacherous with the stones they hurl. If we just sit here and watch, they stay back from the wall and pillage what’s left out there.”

  “Look there,” a young man pointed at the sinuous form of a middling-sized mudge, lifting up out of the wreckage. It winged its way to another section of the decimated frontier city and started circling above the rubble.

  “Archers be aware,” the sergeant ordered. “If it comes near, protect the king.”

  “How long has Commander Corda and the men he handpicked been out there? And where might I find this dramatic missive my not-so-stable wife has sent,” the king growled. The angry displeasure he felt after seeing the destruction firsthand was plain, but everyone around him thought that something was wrong; all the plans he had laid while crossing over from Kingston had suddenly been discarded like so much refuse. Something had changed his mind about why they had crossed the sea, or so it seemed.

  “If it pleases,” a well-attired man stepped forward and bowed. He was bald, save for a wispy strip of gray hair that ran around the back of his head over his ears. “I am Mayor Pandre, former mayor I suppose now, for Outwal is no more.” He paused only to wipe the rain from his brow. “Over the course of this nightmare, I have assumed many duties, most of them far beyond my meager station, and it would be my honor to guide you to hospitable facilities where you can rest and review the missive in question, but also to acquaint you with some of the other problems we are facing. I’m certain that, in your wisdom, you could find better men to…” His voice faded as the king began speaking over him.

  “If you are as good at running Outwal’s affairs as you are at licking my boots, then we’d hate to lose your services, Mayor Pandre, was it?” the king jested dryly. The grim look on his round face didn’t falter, even when a few of the men in the retinue chuckled under their breath.

  The now crimson-faced mayor dropped his head and began leading the group along the Great Wall’s wide, road-like top toward a stair landing. They went down to street level and crossed a wide lane into a fairly clean section of city. The building the mayor led them to was a small fortress of gray block marble. It had stood in that very place, looking out over the harbor and providing shelter from these once wild lands, long before the wall had gone up. It was the original Port Stronghold, and there were tunnels that led underneath the lane to tunnels that went into hatches in the wall. There was even an underground road that traversed the entire peninsula inside the wall.

  The accommodations were perfect for Linux, who had used a terribly powerful spell to switch physicality with King Blanchard. Linux was in the king’s huge, ungainly body, while good King Blanchard was trapped in a cell in his. Linux would soon go make certain that the man was well cared for. It was his body, after all. After the shock of it wore off, the king would accept the situation like the true warrior that he was on the inside. Linux had felt the sheer power of will the king had in him when the transfer took place. It had given him a new respect for the king.

  He had no idea what to do with his newfound power. It wasn’t the sort of power he was used to. This wasn’t the call forth a prismatic blast or step through a stone wall sort of power that he was used to wielding. This was the march legions across the continent sort of power. He would have to walk in his dreams and try to find Mysterian and Vax Noffa before doing anything serious.

  The only thing he would consider doing before conferring with them was organizing a battalion of frontiersmen to go aid Commander Corda. If Prince Richard was really being held in the grottoes around Demon's Lake, there would be hordes of trolls and goblins in the area. The commander would need all the help he could get. Saving the crown prince was paramount, not only to the kingdom, but to the coming Confliction. One of the five that would make the stand had to be of royal blood. The portent had specified it. If the crown prince died, or had his mind scrambled by Gravelbone’s evil taint, then the whole world could end up in a rut.

  Linux wished he hadn’t sent Zahrellion off like he had. She would no-doubt be outraged when she found out that he was the one who had ordered Frunien to use the dampening hood, but she would understand the necessity of it. He could have used her, and her dragon, at the moment; reconnaissance was needed. For that, he either needed Zah and her wyrm, or maybe Lemmy, or the best of the King’s Rangers who remained along the wall. Since two of those three options were impossible, he decided on the third.

  “Mayor,” King Blanchard asked. “Who is the acting commander in charge of the military here, at the moment?”

  “Why, you are,” the man beamed as if he had just given an unexpected compliment.

  “No, no, no.” The king shook his head. Linux was starting to enjoy this. “Say I wanted
to give an order. Say I longed to have a man thrown in the dungeons with that crazed druid, because he thinks I want my fargin boots licked. Who, Mayor Pandre, would I give that order to?”

  “Uh,” the man was visibly shaken now, and he was stammering beyond recovery.

  “That would be Commander Wiklan, Your Highness,” said a uniformed man of the Walguard, who had been escorting the king’s retinue since they had arrived.

  “I’ve already found him and established the new chain of command, sir,” this came from Prince Richard's squire, whom Linux had met at the tournament on King’s Island. “The captains of the Walguard, the Kingsmen, and your Rangers will all be in Haven Hall in a few hours to take orders.”

  Linux couldn’t remember the squire’s name, so he avoided it. “Good. Could you take the mayor here and find a man to listen to his needs? He seems to have taken on more than he is capable of handling and wants to be relieved of some of the duty. Have a man stock Haven Hall with every known map of the area, and have the western end of our Great Wall’s plans brought here to my chamber, especially the subterranean sections.” Linux had studied some of the design plans that the Order of Dou had somehow procured. He figured they might come in handy.

  “I want all the hunters and Foresters, the ones who have ranged around the lake specifically, to be rounded up for questioning as well.” Linux continued from inside King Blanchard’s body. “Oversee it. And be nice about it, please.” Linux caught his own hiccup of character and harrumphed into a short cough. “Round `em up quickly and respectfully, or I’ll name a headsman here and put him to work.” Linux even shook his jowls and clenched his fist like the king sometimes did. “That King’s Ranger, Herald, was on one of our ships, too, I think. Have him found and brought here as well.” Linux looked around and saw that several of the men who he didn’t know, but who had been following him around for that last hour, were now bustling about. He realized that he knew none of their names, and since some of these men were close to King Blanchard, there might eventually be a problem. He had to figure out a plan, but he wanted to confer with the real king first.

  He found a plush divan in the semi-private room the mayor had led them to and fell into it. It was hard work moving all that bulk about. He waved off an offered goblet of ale, but remembered that King Blanchard would never have turned down the mug. He took it, and then took a long pull of the stuff. He found it cold and bitter, but refreshing. “Someone find out if there has been any word from Kingsmen’s Keep. We’ve all but forgotten about them. I want a tub of hot water ready so I can bathe before our war council officially begins. And someone find out where they took that druid! Make certain he isn’t harmed! I think there might have been a misunderstanding. I’ll be visiting him as soon as I’ve washed the sea from my arse, so have a page ready to take me to him.”

  The room had almost emptied. A lone man stood looking at the king curiously, a twinge of doubt or concern revealed itself, but it was a fleeting thing. Linux knew that Spell Master Vahlda could sense something arcane, but was unsure of what it was. The man was afraid to make a fool of himself by acting on a vague suspicion before his king.

  “What is it, Master Vahlda?” Having the king call him by his name put the mage way off guard. “Why aren’t you out there with Corda’s brigade? Aren’t you his man?”

  Vahlda shook his head, realizing that Commander Corda reported to either the king or the crown prince by swifter most of the time, and had probably mentioned him before, which reminded him of why he was there.

  “I’ve brought the queen’s message, and there has been another swifter from her that you should read, Majesty.” He bowed as he handed the king the two scrolls. “As for why I’m not with the commander, sir. Well,” the mage stammered with nervousness. “Uh, Commander Corda wanted me to tell you personally that a man he trusts with his life saw your son riding on the back of that blue wyrm willingly, and that they were fighting with us against the other dragons, and the trolls. That’s what they were doing when they were taken down by the Goblin King.” He shrugged and looked at the floor, knowing that hearing about his son might disturb the king deeply. He gave it no thought when the king growled, “Go tell them to fetch me a bath, man! The sea-salt's done rubbed my fat arse raw.”

  Less than a turn of the glass later, Linux was looking at himself through an open barred door, in a bunker full of cells built into a chamber below the Great Wall. When the king saw himself looking in, his eyes went wide and his face raged crimson. He would have been cursing and raising a ruckus, but there was still a gag stuffed in his mouth. His hands were still bound as well, which caused Linux to shake his head sadly. It was only justice, he decided. The man had imprisoned Zahrellion and Jenka for no good reason. Still he wanted the king to be aware, to at least have a say in what was about to transpire.

  Linux motioned for the guard to open the cell door and dismissed the man.

  “You’ve gone mad, druid. I’ll have your head for this,” Blanchard growled after Linux removed the gag.

  “You already have my head, Majesty, and no one will do what you tell them to do because you’re just the crazed druid who attacked the king.”

  “Those fargin men are gonna pay for the extra boots they put in my ribs,” Blanchard barked.

  “Listen, King Blanchard,” Linux started calmly. “Your son, the De Swasso boy, and Zahrellion are all connected to the dragons in a way that’s far beyond any that your mind can grasp.” He held up a hand to forestall the king’s rage. “Prince Richard is in grave danger, but not because the blue took him, but instead because the blue got killed and the Goblin King captured him. I’m here to try and save him and the kingdom from your rage.”

  “This fargin treachery will be sorted out soon enough,” the king spat his words. “Master Trayga, and Old Wilmer, they won’t be fooled by an imposter, and I—"

  Linux shoved the gag back into the king’s mouth and cringed at the muffled shouting. When it died down, he said, “When you accept the situation and calm down, I will get you some food, and a bath, and include you in everything I do, but I’ll not have you out chasing dragons and getting all those boys you shipped over here killed because you are thickheaded and raging.”

  Linux hadn’t taken off the king's bindings yet and made no effort to do so now. He did pause after he shut the cell door and spoke through the bars. “By the way, the queen is on her way here. She said that Jenka and Zahrellion are already on the mainland somewhere, looking for your son. They flew here on the back of Zah’s dragon, I’m sure.” He paused, letting that knowledge sink into the king's thick skull. “If they hadn’t been locked in a cell in your dungeon, they might have been able to prevent all of this.

  “If you try and remember why that blue wyrm attacked your Grama on the tiltyard that day so long ago, you’ll start to see where your problem lies. For now, you have an inkling of how that dragon felt in those chains.”

  Linux was leaving the cells, following the two Walguard, a page and King Blanchard’s two personal guards, when a pair of dark-scaled mudge attacked the men on the wall-top nearby. One of the wyrms had a troll riding its back. It was pulling stones from a bag it had strapped across its shoulders. One of the rocks nearly hit Linux, and he had to refrain from instinctually blasting up at them with a spell. Instead, he ran King Blanchard’s huge, jiggling bulk across the wide lane and went for cover in the old Port Stronghold, where the war council was waiting for him. Before Linux had a chance to catch his breath, a man barreled into the hall behind him and informed them that more dragons were swarming the length of the wall. They were now under a full attack.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The rain was still pouring down, and Crystal hadn’t yet returned from the sea. She had been gone a day at least. It was hard to say, because the sun couldn’t penetrate the gloomy clouds. Jenka was huddled close to Zahrellion near her sizzling, blue-green fire. Not even the downpour could quell the magical blaze. They were speculating on Gravelbone’s weakness a
nd worried about their dragons, and Prince Richard, too. They talked about everything except Jenka’s true heritage. He didn’t want anyone knowing that he was some sort of spell-born abnormality, created from a witch’s brew. They also discussed what Jenka had promised Mysterian. Zahrellion didn’t like it, but she had to admit that everything she had ever read about dragon tears confirmed what the old Hazeltine had told Jenka. Jenka hadn’t decided if he would honor his oath to the witch before or after they went after Prince Richard. The way it sounded to him, he might need its power to help them set things right.

  Finally, Zah felt a tingle in her heart, making her grin from ear to ear. She knew instinctually that the dragons were all right, and when she told Jenka, he squeezed her close into a hug. They were falling into each other’s comfort, and it was almost pleasant, even in the miserable rain.

  After a long pause in the conversation, Zahrellion turned to face him. She looked deeply into his hazel eyes. Then, without warning, an urge overcame her, and she leaned even closer and kissed him.

  For a few heartbeats, Jenka kissed her back, but the idea that she was elvish — and old — interjected itself into his head and caused him to pull away.

  “How do you manage to look so young, when you act like such an old woman?” he ventured foolishly.

  “I’m only nineteen years old, you bastard!” she replied harshly.

  Had she known that he had just learned that he really was a bastard, she might have used a different term, but maybe not. She was steaming. It seemed that every time she opened up her heart to him, he acted like a dunce.

  After she called him a bastard, he moved away and sat mostly in the rain to avoid her. Luckily, their dragons came flapping down out of the night. Zah was happy to be near Crystal, but not nearly as pleased as Jenka was to see Jade again. Jade felt the same way about seeing Jenka, and he lay down with his head on his outstretched foreclaws near his bond-mate. The rain was forgotten as the two of them talked and enjoyed each other’s company for the rest of the night. The feeling of the magical bond that had formed between them was inexplicably pure and wholesome. Jade told Jenka about saving the sparkling blue and his terrible adventure out over the sea. He also told him about Silva and Rikky Camile.