Mercedes Lackey - Elvenbane

That was Father Dragon's doing; he was in charge of the halfbloods' side, as Dyran was commander of the elven lords'. Shana hadn't even needed to say anything about those old journals...the wizards themselves had deferred to the dragon, on the grounds that he was already a leader, and he had seen this all before. Father Dragon had seemed taken aback, and reluctant at first to take such a leadership role, but he wasn't given much choice. The other dragons were disinclined to obey the orders of two-leggers, and once the last of the work on the fortress had been completed, things threatened to become very chaotic unless he took a hand.

As in this watch on the elven lords' minds. The elves guarded their thoughts, but sometimes things leaked through, and every slip on the elves' part meant another bit of possibly important information.

On the positive side, the elves had no idea they were facing more than one dragon. The Kin flew out by night to feed, and returned before dawn, careful not to show themselves. In the case where the shamans needed to see the sky to work weather-magic...like now...they left with the others and simply did not return, taking cover somewhere nearby.

The elves dabbled in weather-magic. This was their first taste of the real thing; a full-scale Storm-calling at shamanic hands. Or rather, claws.

There were no wizards outside the walls right now. Pouring rain that drenched everything in sight, and pounded unprotected heads into a stupor, kept everyone under shelter. The elven camps were not so fortunate; the humans, when not fighting, huddled miserably under what shelters they could contrive, under scraps of canvas or under trees...fully half the tents were down and the rest threatened to collapse at any moment. Tent stakes would not hold in the soaked and muddy ground, and violent wind gusts uprooted canvas tents and turned them inside-out in a heartbeat. Nor were the elven lords entirely immune; many of them were sharing quarters, since the feebler magics of elves like Cheynar were not proof against the wind and weather, and their luxurious tents were also lying ruined and flat under the pounding rain.

The wizards' respite was only partial, however. Despite rain, despite lightning licking the ground around the fortress, Dyran was pressing the attack. And word had come from those watching the camp that this was a different man than the Dyran they had watched for so long. This Dyran was implacable, admitting no setbacks, permitting nothing to discommode him for long...a driven man, even an obsessed man. Valyn had grown very quiet when the watcher had told them that...and Shana wondered why. But when he wouldn't confide anything, either in her, or in Shadow, she dismissed it from her mind. Valyn had been growing more and more distant these days; withdrawn and introspective, and not even Denelor could pry him out of his shell. He was probably feeling rather useless; most of the older wizards knew as much or more combative magic than he did, and he was too softhearted to join the marksmen on the walls. Shadow, on the other hand, was a great deal more help...full of ideas, and the first one to volunteer for any task. He'd been blossoming since the Triana affair, and Shana was relying on him more and more as time went by...for as the liaison with the dragons, and the only one of them who had anything like real fighting experience, she had become the de facto leader of this little revolt.

"There," Shana said, finishing Liana's claws. "That should be enough, really. It's useless to tip every arrow in the fort with dragon-claw, it really doesn't do anything more against humans than ordinary steel would."

"So what are you doing, might I ask?" Keoke said absently, then transformed to a halfblood shape, teetering for a moment before he caught his two-legged balance. Liana followed his example, more slowly.

Shana swept the nail-clippings carefully into a basket for the wizards acting as fletchers. "We're giving the arrows to our three or four best marksmen, and every time one of the elves comes within range, he gets targeted. It's making them nervous, at the least."

"After seeing what happened to that flunky of Dyran's, I should think it would," Liana replied, peering out one of the window-slits. "That was not a pretty way to die. Shana, the storm is beginning to break up. I think the elves are getting control back."

Shana stifled a groan. "It had to happen sooner or later, I guess. I was just hoping it would be later. I wonder what they're going to do next."

She found out in very short order, as Shadow came flying up the stairs, all out of breath. "It's Dyran." He panted, as the unmistakable sounds of combat came from the walls. "He's started another attack. Only this time...this time he's got a lot of unarmed slaves, kids mostly, and he's herding them in front of the fighters, like a shield. We have to hit them to get to his fighters."

Shana's gorge rose, and for a moment she thought she was going to be sick. "Does Valyn know?" she asked, knowing that the young elven lord's reaction was going to be worse than hers.

"He was on the walls," Shadow said pityingly.

Shana shook her head; she felt sorry for him, but feeling sorry wasn't going to make the army outside their gates go away. Nor was being too incapacitated by the horror of the situation to fight back.

"Anyway, they want you out there," Shadow said, dismissing his cousin even as Shana had. "Father Dragon, that is. Me, too. And the rest of the dragons. He thinks we ought to see if we can figure out some way of getting around the slaves, or getting them out of the way first."

"Right," she said, without wasting another thought on Valyn. "Let's move."

The Kin shifted to halfblood shape, and followed Shadow out to the walls. It was easy to spot Father Dragon; he was the center of a little swarm of activity, as messengers came and went from all parts of the walls.

Shana thought he looked terribly strained, with a kind of haunted expression, especially around the eyes.

Recalling some of the entries in his journals, she suddenly knew why. This wasn't the first time Dyran had used this particular ploy.

And the last time, the wizards hadn't been able to save the slaves either.

"I don't know," he was saying to Denelor as the little group approached, lines of strain around his mouth. "None of our weapons can get to them without killing children. If the Kin shifted, we could fly in and use our shocking ability..."

Denelor shook his head emphatically. "No, no, we need to keep your existence secret as long as possible. Besides, that would put you within range of the elves' magic. Dyran hasn't used some of the worst weapons he has, but that's because they have no effect on stone. On flesh and blood, even protected by scale, it may well be a different story."

"What are we worried about?" Shana wanted to know. "They can fire all the arrows they want, and they aren't going to do us any damage behind all this stone."

"It's getting up to the walls we're worried about," Parth Agon replied absently. "It's that they could get close enough to get ladders up on the walls, or put siege engines to work on them."

"What about getting rid of the ladders and engines?" Shana suggested. "After all, we can all call fire. That should buy us some time."

Father Dragon's face cleared as both Denelor and Parth nodded. "That should buy us quite a bit of time," he said. "Possibly enough to get the rain started again. Can you gentlemen organize that?"

"Immediately," Denelor replied. Parth was already on his way, stopping to talk to each of the wizards on the wall in turn. Denelor hurried below. As Shana shaded her eyes to peer out over the walls, wisps of smoke began rising where the siege equipment stood. Slaves rushed to put the fires out, but with relatively few pieces of siege equipment, and many wizards, several were able to concentrate on each piece. Before long, the fires were burning with fierce flames and thick, black smoke.