Chapter Eight

Only to arrive to a nightmare.

"Since when do dragons dwell in water?" Tallant demanded, and then gave up talking. Abandoning his horse, he charged forward. A dragon so large it could only be female was in the moat—had obviously, from the position, come up out of the moat and attacked people who had been on the drawbridge at the time. The bridge was soaked with blood and water, and Tallant saw at least three bodies.

Men and women screamed as the thieves and Milton attempted to hold her off, as she in turn obviously fought to climb out of the water and up onto the drawbridge. Someone had at least managed to puncture her fire sack—but a female was more ruthless than even a handful of angry males.

"Milton!" Tallant raced across the bridge to where Milton had just shoved another man out of the way and blocked the dragon's teeth at the expense of a sword. He yanked Milton back, out of the way, and called up magic as the dragon lunged again. He released a sharp burst of blinding light, causing the dragon to rear back, roaring in pain and surprise, desperate to protect her sensitive eyes.

"The fuck is going on here?" Tallant gasped out, even as they spread out and braced for the next round.

"Bastard came up out of the water, with no warning at all," Milton said, and then the chance for speaking vanished again.

Arrows flew as Cecil fired from the far bank, and Tallant briefly admired the way he managed—whether by accident or design—to take out one of the eyes. The arrow didn't sink deep enough to penetrate the brain, but the pain and loss of vision in one of her eight eyes could only help them.

He could hear the wolves growling and barking in frustration, unable to contribute to the fight, and shouted thieves cant as Cecil and his men communicated. But the best opportunity to kill the thing would probably come to him and Milton, alone now on the drawbridge as it was too dangerous to have several people there.

The dragon was vicious. Despite extensive combined efforts, the blood swirling in the water below, smearing the drawbridge—they could not break her. Tallant dodged another swipe of her razor talons, then drew energy from Milton and focused on the flame liquid. It was thick, viscous, sticky. Even with all the water, it clung to scales, to everything it touched.

Tallant set it on fire—then sprang back barely in time as a portion of the drawbridge right in front of him burst into flames.

Milton cried out, disbelieving and afraid—then he bellowed in pain, as he moved too slowly and the dragon struck him. Tallant cried out as he went flying off the drawbridge and into the water below.

"Milton!" Cecil's voice, high and panicked, cut through everything else. Cecil screamed, enraged—

Right as the dragon roared and heaved herself up out of the water and onto the drawbridge. Cecil charged it, still screaming, clearly beyond all reason. Everything was fire and water, screams and blood, and Tallant could barely follow what was happening—couldn't follow, really, except that Cecil seemed somehow to be winning. The dragon screamed and thrashed. But the sounds of her dying were drowned out by a loud, ominous crack as the drawbridge finally caved under her ponderous weight.

Right where Cecil stood, still too close to the dying dragon, covered head to foot in her blood. "Cecil!" Tallant cried, and lunged for him, grabbing Cecil and throwing them both off the breaking bridge and into the moat, as far from the dragon and collapsing bridge as he could managed. The world turned wet, chaotic, and he could not tell up from down, light from right. His chest burned, and he thought in a burst of panic that he would die then of drowning—

Suddenly he broke the surface, gasping and heaving for air, dizzy from the lack of it. He went without protest as men hauled him up the step sides of the moat with rope, more than happy to finally collapse on the bank and enjoy being able to breathe.

Cecil's terrified, distraught voice cut through everything, though, pulling him from his doze. "Milton! God damn it, where is Milton—"

"I'm here!" Milton said, and Tallant looked up, relief flooding through him, as Milton appeared over the edge and scrambled up onto the bank. Other than the careful way he moved, as though sore, and the light scratches that had shredded his shirt and covered his chest in red, he looked fine.

Cecil was silent and still, staring at Milton.

Milton smiled hesitantly, obviously trying for reassuring. "I'm fine, Cec—"

"You worthless bastard!" Cecil snarled. "Twelve fucking years you've been gone and now you nearly get yourself killed!" He swung a punch that sent Milton reeling back a couple of steps. "I swear to god—" He fell abruptly silent as Milton suddenly embraced him, one arm wrapped tightly around Cecil, the other cradling his head.

"I'm sorry, Cec."

For a moment, Cecil did not move—but then his arms came up, slow and stiff, and he held fast to Milton, burying his head in Milton's shoulder.

Tallant smiled faintly, and dragged himself to his feet. Turning to the man nearest him, Kory, he asked, "So what the hell happened?"

"Fuck if we know," Kory said, and raked his hair out of his face, then grimaced when his hand came away covered in dragon ichor. "The damn thing sprang out of the water like she'd been waiting for us—like she just wanted to fuck with us. Three men were dead before we knew what the fuck had happened. Then you and Rasnake showed up." He sighed.

Tallant shared the sentiment. He looked at the carnage left behind. The dragon carcass was in the moat, the ruined bridge that separated them from the castle, the castle inhabitants clustered on the other side.

"What in the hell are we supposed to do now?" Tallant groused. "Remaking that bridge will be no small undertaking."

Kory said several choice words in thieves cant. Agreeing completely, Tallant clapped him on the shoulder, then strode over to join Milton and Cecil. The tension between the brothers seemed largely gone, replaced only by a slight awkwardness. Tallant ignored it, and asked Milton, "How's your arm?"

"It's been better," Milton said, grimacing as he moved his left arm, which he'd been holding carefully once he let go of Cecil. Shaking his head, because Milton was in about ten times more pain than he was indicating, Tallant laid his hands gently on Milton's arm and pulled energy from both of them, then shaped it into a healing spell.

When the arm was sufficiently healed, Tallant tended the rest of his wounds. "You're luck you're not lying at the bottom of the moat in six pieces." Milton grimaced and did not argue, but the light in his eyes said he was more than happy to have risked it because Cecil had stopped hating him. Tallant turned to Cecil. "Are you all right? I was rather rough about getting us off that bridge."

"I'm fine," Cecil said gruffly, looking at him—then flushing slightly and looked hastily away. "What are we going to do about the damned bridge?"

"Nothing for now," Milton said. "Let's just focus on getting back into the castle. We'll send men out later to obtain the necessary lumber and in the meantime, build a temporary bridge. Did you learn anything about the wards?"

"The anchoring obelisk was broken magically, and someone is using the stolen women as blood sacrifices to try and fix it. We found another one dead, her throat slit. Her name was Amber."

Milton flinched. "Amber. Damn it."

"So how do we get back across?" Cecil asked.

"Across the dragon," Milton said with a sigh. "She's big enough that if we go carefully, that'll work for now. But we'll have to do something with her later. That corpse can't stay there."

"Later," Tallant said, when he could see both brothers were already formulating ideas and about to try and put them into action. "It can wait a couple of hours. I, for one, need to rest and restore my depleted energy. We all need to clean up. Send some men to fetch Amber's body, get everyone else inside."

"Right," Milton replied. "I need to take stock of rope and other supplies. Cecil, can your wolves tell us if the area is safe enough for now? I don't want any more surprise dragons."

Cecil whistled, and the wolves barked. "It's safe."

"Let's get inside, then," Milton said. "Rest up, then figure out what to do next—and how the hell that dragon attacked the castle directly."

Getting back across the moat was far easier said than done. It took just over an hour to get ten people across the already foul-smelling dragon corpse and into the castle.

Milton ordered the gates lowered after the men sent out for Amber had returned. "From now on, the castle is sealed. We'll work around the extra manpower needed to do that, because we cannot afford to leave the castle completely open anymore."

"Any other people injured?" Tallant asked as Henry came up to them.

Henry nodded. "A few, they're in the hall." Tallant nodded, and signaled Milton, then strode off to tend to the wounded.

Milton nodded, but never broke from handing out orders and sorting out the people gathering around him. All the while, Tallant could not help noticing the way Cecil stood quietly by, tired but clearly relieved by something—perhaps that he was no longer bearing the full burden of responsibility. Whatever the brothers had exchanged in that embrace, it had clearly started to set all wrongs right, and allowed Cecil to cede the control he had clearly never wanted.

Tallant reached up to touch his pendant, curled his fingers around it. Wolves—Milton and Cecil were definitely that. They were tough, flik, always growling, playing, and working, but at the end of it all, fiercely loyal to each other, to their pack.

He was no longer in the middle of two angry brothers, but it let him feeling rather stranded. Milton was his brother, but Tallant was absolutely certain he'd never be able to see Cecil the same way. No, Cecil was something else entirely.

And now was not the time for such selfish thoughts. Really, he was getting worse and worse about his self-pity. Reaching the great hall, Tallant threw himself into healing the handful of wounded there, then pitched in to pull out the supplies that would be needed to make a temporary bridge. Then he wound up helping serve food and drink.

Eventually, though, he found himself at loose ends, with dusk just beginning to fall. He sent a boy to fetch his satchel, then took it and a mug of mulled wine to a quiet corner of the castle. He settled in comfortably and pulled out his half-dozen books on magic.

He hadn't read more than a couple of pages when his eyes grew too heavy to keep open.

*~*~*

"Get up," said a sour voice. "God, I can't get you to bed if you don't help me at least a little."

"Grmf," Tallant replied. He stumbled, moved, leaned heavily against…someone was moving him? Thinking was hard. He had the hazy idea that someone was trying to drag him somewhere. Bed? Had he said that?

Magic, he realized vaguely. He'd utterly sapped himself using so much of it in so short a span of time. The dragon. Healing.

Then the thoughts slipped away and he just went along in a daze, until he stumbled, fell, and landed on something hard—and then something heavy landed on top of him, and Tallant sort of heard talking or maybe shouting. Swearing? He didn't know, or care.

Rolling, shifting, he burrowed into the warmth now lying alongside him and went back to sleep.