Chapter 40 Evander
Chapter forty
Evander
Cadmus’s soldiers had conscripted fifty men and women of fighting age from Cobblepine, five of whom had been trainees in Silvanlight under Evander.
Haldir kept these five, then split the others into groups and sent them with four lieutenants to travel to distant encampments—isolating them from their own people to prevent violence or dissent.
Lysander’s brutal death shook the Cobblepine conscripts, but not in the way Haldir had intended. Instead of frightening them into submission, he’d solidified his place as a tyrant and a murderer, and the remaining Cobblepinions eyed him like a pack of wolves watching a deer.
Even though Lysander had been a cruel boy, and almost a passive murderer, his death sickened Evander … and made him nervous. Who would be the next victim of Haldir’s irascible temper?
They trudged over the open plains all night, through the following day, and into the second night.
As dawn broke, the breeze rose with it, chill and smelling of sea salt.
The shimmering blue marsh lapped against oyster-crusted boulders on either side of the raised dirt path as seagulls and egrets soared over the water, jeering at the grim line of weary conscripts.
Tired as they were, antagonism radiated off the Cobblepinions like steam from a hot spring.
The military encampment at Stratus stood on a stretch of sand overgrown with clumps of bristle grass.
The camp was arranged like a wagon wheel with the mess hall, infirmary, and armory at the center and neat rows of white tents extending outward like spokes.
Behind the camp, the dragon paddocks crisscrossed the sand, ranging around a long gray barn.
A village teetered on stilts over the marsh, its bleached wooden buildings glowing in the sunlight like they were made of bone.
While the locals preferred to travel in dinghies pushed through the water with long poles, a creaking boardwalk still led from the camp to town, and the soldiers were allowed to frequent the tavern without passes.
A brushy pine forest bordered the camp, and peering over the squat trees stood Cadmus’s summer home. It was four stories tall, eight windows from side to side, with a blue tiled roof and whitewashed brick walls.
As soon as they stepped off the road and into camp, Hera decided she’d done enough walking and lay down. Evander made a few half-hearted attempts to rouse her, but she ignored him, so he curled in the crook of her front leg and fell asleep.
He slept fitfully, worrying about Valenna, worrying about Hera, and, strangest of all, worrying about Samara and Giles and the other conscripts.
Cobblepine had rejected him, left him to die, driven Valenna to leave him and return to her father. He should be furious. Instead, he felt guilty and wretched.
The conscripts huddled together around a small fire a few paces away. Samara glanced at Evander, and his chest hurt. He remembered when he was first sent to war—that battle cut a trench between childhood and manhood, and he’d lost touch with the boy he left on the other side.
Samara was about to wade into a bog of nightmare; someone had to hold aloft a light for her to follow. Make sure she didn’t sink into the muck. Not Evander, of course, but someone.
Haldir kicked Evander’s foot, and he started out of his doze. His neck and shoulders stiff, he sat up and waited for the headache that always greeted him upon waking, and its absence made him oddly unnerved.
“What in Roz’s nest are you doing here, Haldir?” Evander asked, standing and facing the big man. They hadn’t spoken on the journey, because Haldir had a shotfire barrel pointed at Evander’s head and insisted he be silent. But Evander wanted answers, so he risked it.
“The dracologist in Allagesh fired me,” Haldir said, drawing a shotfire from his belt and playing with the hammer. “After that whole scene with the hydra. I’m Sennalaithic by birth.”
Evander scanned his uniform, trying to determine his rank. “That explains how you’re already a colonel.”
“I’m talented,” Haldir snapped.
“You mean your father bought your commission.”
Haldir swung his fist, cracking Evander in the temple.
It was a clumsy blow, and Evander could have dodged, but he chose not to.
The Cobblepine conscripts were watching, weighing.
If he established his own animosity toward Haldir, perhaps he could earn their trust. So he fell with an exaggerated cry.
Hera’s left and center heads lifted, the right one nuzzled at him. He stayed down.
The conscripts crouched in silence, their faces eager, curious.
Dizzy, Evander stumbled to his feet.
Haldir pulled his shotfire and shoved it against Evander’s chest.
The sight of the little weapon brought back the image of Lysander’s head bursting, and a chill rushed down Evander’s spine, but he just raised one eyebrow and crossed his arms.
“Are you bloody serious?” he asked.
“I can make an example of you.”
Evander let out a short laugh. “Killing that kid in Cobblepine wasn’t enough?”
A slow smile spread across Haldir’s face, then he chuckled and shoved the shotfire into his belt.
He half turned away, then spun and sank his fist below Evander’s ribs.
The breath rushed out of Evander’s lungs, and he crumpled to his knees, stunned.
Haldir followed the blow with a kick to Evander’s kidney.
With a cry of pain, Evander fell on his face in the grass.
All three of Hera’s heads lurched up. Her lips curled away from her fangs, and a low growl rumbled in her throat.
A grinding click sent a shock through Evander, and the cold bone barrel of Haldir’s shotfire touched his temple.
The Cobblepinions jumped up, protesting.
Evander heard Samara shout, “Dragon skinning murderer!”
They pressed forward, toeing the threshold of a riot. Soldiers ran from the camp, shouting, trying to regain order.
Evander could feel the mounting terror and fury radiating off Hera. He needed to get up and stop her before she killed everyone. Before she killed him.
Bodies piled onto Evander, wrenching his arms behind his back, pushing his face into the sand. Someone’s knee ground against his spine, between his shoulder blades. Another shotfire touched the base of his neck.
The Cobblepinion conscripts’ shouts rose to a cacophony of swears and jeers, Samara’s voice shrill above the others, “Leave him alone! Dragon skinning Murderers!”
Rosemary cried out, “You can't kill all of us!”
And Ignatius boomed, “Justice for Lysander!”
Ropes chafed Evander’s wrists. He couldn’t breathe.
His head spun, and he feared he might pass out as the commotion hit a fever pitch, and Hera thrummed.
Mentally, Evander groped past the crowding fog in his head and channeled magic toward her.
She calmed, lying down and curling her head in like a giant, hairless golden retriever.
“Bournemuth!” a commanding voice shouted. “What are you doing?”
Evander didn’t dare move.
“Release him!”
Air rushed into Evander’s lungs as the soldiers climbed off him.
“I need these soldiers! I cannot have you killing them on a whim!” the newcomer shouted.
The man with the commanding voice seized Evander’s shoulder, dragging him to his knees.
“Get up,” the man said. “The king is here.”
Evander bit down on an exclamation of surprise. Standing over him was a general with silver-streaked hair, and behind the general, looking regal and aloof, stood Cadmus, the king of Sennalaith.
His father-in-law.
Evander seethed. This man had killed his father. This man mistreated Valenna and destroyed her childhood. This man ruined his childhood as well.
Holding his breath, Evander waited for Cadmus to recognize him, but the king strode toward Hera without bothering to cast Evander a second glance.
Perhaps he hadn’t known him. He couldn’t remember ever meeting Cadmus face-to-face in battle, except in the dark.
Perhaps the king didn’t recall what he looked like. And he’d changed over five years.
After giving Hera another appraising look, Cadmus’s eyes settled on Evander with mild interest.
“You’re the man who stole my hydra,” he said.
“No, Your Majesty.” Evander donned a perplexed expression. “Didn’t you purchase the hydra from Silvanlight Dracorium?”
Cadmus paused. “Yes, and I was told by Bournemuth here that she was stolen by a trainer …”
Evander laughed, too loud, too forcefully, but it had the effect he’d intended. Cadmus tilted his head and waited for an explanation.
Samara and the others looked at Evander like he’d lost his mind. They’d never heard him laugh.
“The hydra escaped because Bournemuth mishandled her. I followed her into the Whyspenware, then I stopped at the sanctuary to rest before continuing to you.”
Haldir, standing nearby looking petulant, shouted, “That’s a lie! The hydra is his pet, and he stole it and ran into the forest!”
“More accurately, she stole me and ran into the forest,” Evander remarked.
“But …”
Cadmus frowned. “Silence, Colonel.”
Haldir bit his tongue, his face and neck flushing.
“I can return to Silvanlight and leave the hydra with you, if you like,” Evander bluffed. “As your men can attest, Bournemuth handles her expertly.”
With a light chuckle, the king clasped his hands behind his back and circled Hera. Her heads swiveled, watching him. “I heard she made a tidy supper of my men. Can you train her to go to battle for me?”
“Hydra aren’t combat dragons,” Evander said. “You can’t take her to battle.”
“But I could ride her onto a hill near the battle so she can be seen?”
“If I am with her.”
Cadmus nodded. “You stay so long as the hydra needs you. And what of this sad bundle of pathetic soldiers?” he said, not particularly to Evander, as he inspected the Cobblepinion conscripts.