Of Limited Loyalty

Chapter Twenty-eight

16 May 1767 Happy Valley Postsylvania, Mystria

Mugwump snatched the demon up in his mouth and spat it, broken and limp, toward a clump of the creatures covering something on the ground. The demon steamed, the dragon’s saliva already consuming it. The others screeched and pulled back, smeared mucus already burning holes in their wings. The dragon’s tail flicked left and right, snapping demons into clouds of black blood and bone splinters.

Prince Vlad, clinging to the saddle with frostbitten fingers, hunched forward as Mugwump spun. The dragon bit things in half, shaking his head as a terrier might shake a rat, and wetness spattered the Prince. Vlad didn’t really care what it was, since it was warmer than he. He dearly wished they were closer to the fire-at least until he realized it was a building.

Then Mugwump launched himself into the air again, up into a black fog that hid the ground, visibly reducing the burning building to a tiny spark. Right wing went up, left down. Mugwump rolled through the sky, flying after the bat-winged creatures. He hissed savagely, a sound the Prince had heard at Anvil Lake, but this time saliva jetted out in a mist. The demons caught in it curled up and dropped from sight. Vlad marveled, never having suspected the dragon of having such a weapon.

Mugwump pumped his wings and twisted again sharply in pursuit. He looped up and over as he chased after a particularly good flier. Prince Vlad vomited. He coughed and retched, doubling over both frozen and miserable, holding on for dear life and wishing he might fall to his death and end the torture. He had no idea where he was, why Mugwump had stopped responding to commands, what the demons were, or why Mugwump seemed so intent on, and skilled at, killing them.

Then one landed on Vlad’s back, cloaking him in its wings. It chittered as it lunged for his neck, its fetid breath hot against exposed flesh. Its clawed hands grabbed his shoulders tightly, and toe talons found purchase on his thighs.

Vlad snapped his head back, driving his skull into the creature’s face. Bones broke, and a part of the Prince’s brain catalogued that fact. It made sense that the creature’s bones would be light, even hollow, like a bird’s. To confirm that, he grabbed its ankles and squeezed. More bones popped and the creature thrashed. He reached up and back, grabbing it by the wings, then pulled it forward and smashed its spine against the saddle horn.

For a heartbeat he contemplated keeping it as a specimen, but contemptuously tossed it aside. As it fell, Mugwump looked back and hooted triumphantly.

Then he rolled again and dropped from the sky, leaving Prince Vlad’s stomach somewhere above the clouds. The dragon’s sharp descent pierced the black fog, but it had already begun to dissipate. Wings flared and Mugwump landed softly, snorting and hissing more deadly mist.

A man came running over, remaining well clear of Mugwump’s wings and tail. “Highness, what are you doing here?”

It took Prince Vlad a moment to recognize him beneath the blood. “I could ask you the same, Owen. Is this Postsylvania?”

“So the locals say.”

Kamiskwa came trotting over, a young girl clutched in one arm, his bloody warclub in his other hand. “Becca was never called to the Temple. She hid. As the demons scattered, one entered the house she was in. She screamed. I thought Rufus might have slunk off in that direction, so I went looking and found her instead.”

Mugwump raised his muzzle and sniffed. He roared a challenge.

The Altashee smiled. “Then I leave her to you, Mugwump, and I shall continue seeking signs of our enemy.”

Prince Vlad invoked the spell and spun the left-hand wheel. The dragon responded by turning toward a large barnlike building in front of which Nathaniel and Makepeace crouched over a man. “Is that Colonel Rathfield?”

Owen nodded. “Rufus Branch used magick on him, the like of which I’ve never seen before. Not even du Malphias had this sort of power. Please tell me Mugwump ate him.”

“I don’t believe so, but I cannot be sure.” The Prince slid from the saddle and went to his knees. “I’ve been riding for hours, maybe five or so.”

Owen helped him up and threw an arm around his waist. “We’re glad you got here. We were done until you sent them flying.”

“Not me, it was Mugwump.” The Prince became a bit steadier as they walked to where Rathfield lay. “Magick, you say?”

“Wickedly powerful magick.” Owen held his hand out to Becca and she reluctantly took it, hanging back away from Rathfield.

Rathfield had been stretched out and his limbs straightened. He had a few minor cuts-far fewer than any of the others, all of whom looked thoroughly gnawed-and signs of a broken leg. Of most concern, however, was the clear indication of a skull fracture. The flesh over his left eye had already begun to swell and turn purple.

Nathaniel swiped his forearm over his forehead, smearing blood. “He’s breathing, but reedy. Tain’t going to be long for this world.”

A distant voice called out. “I can help him.”

Makepeace got up and lumbered toward the center of the green. “Done forgot the Steward.”

The Prince raised an eyebrow. “Who?”

“Ezekiel Fire. He’s the Steward of Happy Valley, which is the capital of Postsylvania. He founded the True Oriental Church of the Lord.” Owen tore a strip off his loincloth and stuffed it against a bite-mark on his forearm. “Did the Count and Hodge make it back to you yet?”

“No.”

Nathaniel nodded. “Sixteenth might have been a bit quick to expect, but inside two weeks they’ll reach Temperance Bay.”

Before the Prince could even begin to catalogue the questions he wanted to ask, Makepeace returned with a small, older man who was rubbing his wrists. Without a word Fire sank to his knees beside Ian Rathfield and held his hands out flat over the man’s cracked skull. A faint reddish glow surrounded them, then he looked up. “This is not good. I can help, but I cannot heal him, not fully.”

“Well, Steward, I reckon you want to be telling us what you kin do, then we’ll figger the rest.”

“His leg’s broken, but you can set that.”

The Prince pointed to the man’s head. “Depressed skull fracture.”

The Steward nodded. “It is, but it isn’t just that. There’s still magick there. It’s lost lots of power, but is still trying to drive bone into his brain. God willing, I can break that.”

Makepeace knelt beside the Steward at the Colonel’s head. “I’ll be proud to be praying with you.”

Fire nodded, then gently lay his hands on Rathfield’s skull. He touched thumb to thumb and index finger to index finger, letting the wound appear plainly in that triangle. He took a deep breath, then raised his face toward the Heavens.

“Most Holy and Almighty God, I kneel here before You a most foolish and unworthy servant. Through my sinfulness and pride, I allowed a man to learn things I do not think You meant him to know. He laid this man low. I saw it as plain as I see the results now. But this man, Ian Rathfield, he is a good and righteous man. He came to the aid of his fellow men here, knowing the danger he was in. You made him magnificent, Lord, a Lion of the Faith, facing a man possessed of dozens of demons, a man commanding legions of demons. All because I believed I knew what You wanted. So I beg of you, dear Lord, to lift the magick Your enemy used. I beg You to bring him back from the brink of death. If it is Your will, I will accept from him the burden of his injuries, that he may continue to know life in You, and the joy of communion with You. Thy will be done.”

No one said a thing and for a handful of heartbeats, nothing happened. Then the red glow returned to Fire’s hands. It intensified, hiding his flesh, yet leaving Rathfield’s forehead still visible. And there bones shifted. Though the swelling did not subside, bone rose and snapped crisply back into place. A bit of the glow outlined an odd sigil in Rathfield’s flesh, as if a tattoo somehow fading into invisibility.

Fire slumped back on his heels. Makepeace caught him and dragged him away, laying him out on the ground. “He’s breathing regular, just exhausted.”

Nathaniel moved down to Rathfield’s ankle. “Makepeace, grab his knee. Girl, can you go into the workshop and get me two pieces of wood about as long as you are tall?”

Becca stared at him, still shivering.

Owen squeezed her hand. “I’ll go with you. It will help.”

Once the girl had vanished into the workshop, Nathaniel pulled on the ankle and Kamiskwa set the broken leg. Rathfield remained unconscious throughout. His breathing became more regular and quiet.

Prince Vlad slowly shook his head. “Where do I begin?”

“Telling your story, or hearing ours?” Nathaniel smiled. “Not sure there’s enough time for either.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

As Owen returned with the splints for the leg, Nathaniel steered the Prince toward the village green. “Bad doings here, very bad. Owen can give you his journal. That will tell you most of it. Plain facts is this: two villages done been destroyed, maybe a third. Yonder fire’s all’s left of the folks of Happy Valley. It’s a blessing we’re up wind of it. Ezekiel Fire and his people found some magick which makes that healing he done look like lighting a candle. I ain’t sure Fire’s in his right mind. And the things we done found up to the mountains, well, if they are just a sliver of what they might be, I ain’t sure there’s power on this here earth what can even slow them down.”

Vlad’s mouth soured. “I’ve been doing some researching myself. What Fire knows would be enough to scare most of Norisle by itself. If…”

“Begging your pardon, Highness, but this ain’t time for strategizing.” Nathaniel pointed at Rathfield. “Ain’t no way he’s walking out of here. I reckon we make a stretcher, strap it to Mugwump, and you fly him on back home. We’ll fit you with a journal, like I said, and some other things.”

The Prince nodded. “Of course. I’ll get him back to Prince Haven and the care he needs, then I can come back for you.”

“That ain’t gonna work, neither. We’ll be walking on out of here, bringing the girl and Fire with us. This being the sixteenth, we should be back early June. That’ll give you time to be doing some cogitating on all you’ll be reading.”

Vlad rested a hand on Nathaniel’s shoulder. “You want me out of here quickly, very quickly.”

“I reckon I do.” The man’s eyes tightened. “I ain’t wholly sure what I done seen tonight, and I don’t want you here if Rufus comes back. Iffen I thought the girl could survive the trip back on Mugwump, I’d be giving her to you, too. After what she’s seen in the last week, I ain’t sure she’ll ever be right.”

“But what if Mugwump’s presence is what is keeping the things at bay? What if Rufus is hiding until Mugwump leaves?”

“Well, since Ian can’t make it through the mountains, and Mugwump ain’t gonna be no good for hauling him that way, don’t see as it makes much difference.” Nathaniel shook his head. “You want me to say it, I will. I am pure-D scared at what I seen. Make me feel better a-knowing you’re back in Temperance figuring out how to stop it, than it would to have you coming along.”

“I agree, but not about the girl. The trip you’re suggesting will not be good for her.” Vlad walked back over toward where the others had gathered, and spun the left wheel on his glove. Mugwump’s head came up, then the beast reoriented himself. The Prince rolled both wheels forward smoothly, and the dragon padded forward.

Vlad smiled. “Owen, how would your friend, Becca, like to meet someone who came a long way to save her?”

The girl shrank back behind Owen.

Vlad crouched down, and offered her his right hand. “Becca, I am Vlad. These are my friends. Mugwump is, too. Do you know where Temperance is?”

The little girl shook her head.

“It’s to the east, over the mountains, very far away. That’s where I live. That is where we all live. And do you know what I was doing this afternoon?”

“No.”

Vlad looked back at Mugwump. “I was riding my dragon. He is the only dragon in Mystria. And he saved all of our lives several years go. And there I was, flying on his back, in the saddle right there, when Mugwump heard you were in trouble. He can hear very well.”

“He doesn’t have no ears.”

“Well, dragons, they can hear well without them. And he heard you needed help. Do you know what he did?”

Becca peeked past Owen at Mugwump, then ducked back when the dragon’s head came around. “No.”

“He flew here like a bird. Right here. Right here to save you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you, because you’re a very special little girl.” The Prince smiled. “Becca, have you ever watched a bird fly through the sky?”

She nodded.

“Have you ever wanted to fly like a bird?”

The hint of a smile crept onto her face.

“Well, I’ll tell you a secret. Do you know what makes you so special a little girl?”

“What?”

“You will be the first ever girl to fly on a dragon. Never been done before. Not even once. But Mugwump, he came here to get you because you’ll be the first. Isn’t that wonderful?”

Fear and curiosity fought for control of the girl’s expression. She peeked several more times at the dragon, but finally hung back in Owen’s shadow.

Then the Steward sat up. “Do not be afraid, Becca Green. God sent this dragon. You will return with him.”

Becca nodded solemnly and walked toward Mugwump.

Vlad caught up with her in two steps. “Becca, this is Mugwump. Mugwump, this is Becca Green.”

While the Prince performed introductions and showed the girl where to pet the dragon on his muzzle, the others cobbled together a stretcher and bound Ian into it. Linking together every cinch-strap they could find, they fashioned another harness and bound the bed tightly to Mugwump’s lower back. Then they found a small saddle, which they padded well and affixed to the rear of Vlad’s saddle. They fitted the girl with a safety harness and swathed her in blankets. They provided more of the same for the Prince, and added a satchel full of Owen’s journals and as many of the sheets containing the odd sigils as they could find.

Vlad mounted up. “You’re back to Prince Haven by June seven, or I’m backtracking you on the route you took getting here.”

Nathaniel nodded. “Godspeed and good luck. We’ll come back as fast as we can and make sure ain’t nothings following us.”

On the return flight, Mugwump followed every command perfectly, and seemed to be contrite for his earlier rebellion. He flew lower, keeping above the treetops but not much higher, which meant they remained warmer. The sun was rising by the time they returned, and Mugwump landed gently in the yard, between Peregrine’s pen and the house.

Becca had fallen asleep and even the landing failed to rouse her. Vlad freed himself from the saddle, then undid her buckles. By the time he could pull her from the saddle, Baker, Madeline, and the rest of the household had been roused and poured out to help.

Vlad passed the girl down into Madeline’s arms. “Baker, don’t worry about Mugwump. Send someone over to the Strake house. Get Owen’s men over here. We have to get Colonel Rathfield inside.”

Baker ran off toward the stables to dispatch one of the stable boys.

Vlad slid to the ground and again his legs buckled. He would have fallen but his wife caught him. “Gisella, I am so…”

She shoved him back against the dragon’s flank and kissed him mightily, then hugged him and sobbed within the circle of his arms. “If you ever do that again…”

“Darling, I had no intention…”

She pulled back and thrust a finger at Mugwump’s golden eye. “I was speaking to him!”

Vlad slumped against the dragon, and had he not caught hold of a stirrup, he’d have slid down to the ground. “I don’t think it will happen again. It’s a good thing it did.”

“What did you find?”

“Postsylvania and Ezekiel Fire.” Vlad stood and tugged the satchel free of the saddle. “And much more. If what we knew before was enough to change the world, what this might reveal could possibly end it.”