Морган Райс
Born of Dragons
CHAPTER SIX
Devin stood in Master Grey’s quarters, among the oddments that only a magus could collect, staring at a map of the kingdom while Master Grey pointed at spots on it.
“My research has identified places where fragments of the Unfinished Sword will sit,” he said. “A family tomb in the foothills of the far north, a shrine outside a village in the kingdom’s heartlands.” He pointed to another half dozen spots, one by one.
Devin tried to take it all in. “Why would anyone spread the fragments of a sword like this?”
“Because it is a weapon of power,” the sorcerer replied. “One too dangerous to be left in the hands of men in times of peace.”
“Have there been any times of peace recently?” Sir Twell the Planner asked from across the room. Sir Halfin the Swift stood beside him, the two knights of the Spur wearing half plate and chain, covered by cloaks, their shields plain rather than showing the insignia that would mark them out. Sir Twell had a bandaged wound from the battle, but still seemed to be moving well. Sir Halfin kept shifting his weight, as if eager to just move.
“The wars of men are not what I’m worried about,” Master Grey said.
“Then what are you worried about?” Devin asked. Not that he expected an answer. He didn’t get one.
“It is vital that you collect the fragments of the sword,” Master Grey said. “Many are hidden in plain sight, some in more… dangerous places. You proved with the blade you made for the wedding that you can forge star metal.”
“Wonderful,” Sir Halfin said. “Traveling together to collect that stuff. It will be just like our trip to Clearwater Deep.”
“Except that this time, Rodry won’t be with us,” Sir Twell said, in a somber tone. “You say that all this is needed, wizard?”
Master Grey nodded. “If you had seen the things that I have seen, you would not have to ask.”
“But I do have to ask,” Sir Twell said. “Because you want to take two knights away in the middle of a war.”
“I would take more,” Master Grey said. “But there are those who would follow, if they knew what was happening. The two of you plus Devin is more discreet.”
The knight sighed at that, because it clearly hadn’t been what he meant. “And you’ve prepared for this properly?”
Master Grey gave him an odd look. “For longer than even you could understand, Planner. But if you mean in the more immediate sense… horses, supplies, weapons, and gold will be waiting for you below. All that even you could require.”
That seemed to make the knight, if not happy, then at least content.
Sir Halfin turned to Devin. “And what about you? Do you think that this is a good idea? Do you trust the king’s sorcerer?”
Devin wasn’t sure how to answer either of those questions. Master Grey was not a man who inspired trust, or gave answers, or even acted in any way that wasn’t down to his own unfathomable prophecies. He certainly didn’t think that this would be safe, or easy. Yet he’d seen things himself that he shouldn’t have been able to, he’d read part of Master Grey’s thoughts about a child born on the dragon moon being vital. If he was, didn’t he have a duty to act?
“I think that we have to do this,” Devin said. He held out his hand toward the others. “If this can help the kingdom, then we have to at least try. Will you help?”
Sir Halfin was the first to reach out, placing his hand over Devin’s. “I will. If we are not for this, what are Knights of the Spur for?”
Sir Twell took a moment longer, but then joined his hand with theirs. “Very well,” he said. “I swear it. I still have one question though: how will we find these fragments?”
“Devin will feel the star metal when he is close,” Master Grey said. “But further off…” He took out what looked like a map, laying it flat. It showed the kingdom, showed the fragments that he had pointed out, yet there was something else… at least one of them was moving.
“Magic,” Devin said, in awe. Even having seen all that Master Grey could do, such a thing still seemed filled with wonder.
“The map will track the fragments,” the magus said. “With it, you should be able to get close. I would guess that the one that is moving is one that is currently possessed by a merchant, who thinks of it as a trinket to sell.”
“Then we’ll get it back,” Devin promised. “And all the others.”
“Leave quickly,” Master Grey said. He put a hand on Devin’s shoulder. “There might not be much time left, for any of us.”
“I will,” Devin said, but then thought for a moment. “There’s just one thing I need to do first.”
***
When Devin approached Lenore’s rooms, his heart was in his mouth. He wasn’t sure if he would even be allowed to see her, let alone to speak with her, or… or what? Express everything he felt? Say it all even though she was a married woman now?
Devin didn’t know. Didn’t know what to say, or how far to go. He only knew that he had to do something. So he’d come to her rooms, and that was strange in itself. Shouldn’t she be in Finnal’s chambers now that she was his wife?
He was even more surprised when a completely different princess opened the door, a spear in her hand as if she might stab him.
“Who are you?” Princess Erin demanded. “What do you want?”
“It’s all right, Erin,” Lenore’s voice called from behind her. “It’s Devin, Rodry’s friend. Let him in.”
Princess Erin gave him another look as though expecting Devin to suddenly draw out a knife and attack, but she stepped back.
“I guess if you’re a friend of Rodry’s, it’s okay.”
Devin had never seen the interior of the rooms beyond, and for a moment the sight took him aback. Blue silk billowed at the windows of a sitting room area, while on one of the couches, Lenore sat reading, and a figure in a monk’s robes stood a little way away, apparently focusing on nothing. To Devin’s eyes Lenore was more beautiful than ever, the fine-boned fragility of her features filled with a new kind of determination after her kidnapping, her nearly black hair tied back now in a simple style that somehow suited her even more than all the efforts her maids had produced before, and her eyes… Devin felt as though he could stare at those eyes forever.
“Devin,” she said, holding out a hand to him. She drew him to sit beside her. “It’s good to see you. I didn’t think you’d come here.”
“Is it all right to come here?” Devin asked, with a frown. “I… wouldn’t want to cause trouble for you.”
He knew it wasn’t usual, a lowborn young man like him visiting a princess in her rooms. He didn’t want to do anything that would bring disapproval for Lenore.
“No, I’m glad you came,” Lenore said, and Devin’s heart leapt. “I… was hoping that you would, but I thought with everything you have to do for Master Grey, that you might not have time. That you’d forgotten about me.”
“I could never forget about you,” Devin said, and then realized what he’d said. “That is… I’ve just been very busy.”
“It must be strange, working for a sorcerer,” Lenore said. “The sword you forged was beautiful, by the way. I’m sure Rodry would have…”
She choked back the last word, and Devin nodded, because even though Rodry hadn’t been his brother, he still understood the pain of losing him. “Thank you,” he said, because if there was one person he wanted to appreciate something he’d made, it was Lenore. “Actually, that’s kind of why I’ve come. I… Master Grey is sending me off to do another job for him. I can’t say what, but I’ll have to be away at least for a while.”
Was that disappointment Devin saw in her eyes, or was he just imagining that she felt all that he did at the thought of not being able to see one another?
“That’s… a pity,” Lenore said. “It’s good having you around. I… I like having you here.”
“I like being here,” Devin said. “But I think I have to do this, and before I left, I wanted, well, to give you something.” He realized how that would sound. “I mean, because the wedding present I made ended up being more of a wedding present for your husband.”
“My husband, yes,” Lenore said, as if for a moment, she’d almost forgotten about Finnal.
Devin took his chance and took out a small fragment of star metal that had been left over from the forging. He’d worked on it, trying to build his skills with it, shaping it into a series of cage-like spheres that fit around one another, each moving freely inside the next. At its heart, he’d set a piece of colored glass, so that every movement of the spheres of star metal around it changed the way the light hit it.
“It isn’t much,” Devin said. “Certainly not compared to a sword, but—”
“It’s beautiful,” Lenore said, holding it in the palm of her hand. “I love it.”
And I love you, Devin wanted to say, but didn’t, couldn’t. Not to a princess; a married princess no less.
“I will keep it close as a reminder while you’re gone,” Lenore said. “I’ll treasure it.”
“That’s… I’m glad,” Devin said. Why was it so hard to find the words around her? “I should go. The others are waiting for me.”
He took Lenore’s hand briefly, trying to work out whether it would be appropriate to kiss it or not. Probably not. He stood and headed for the door.
“Devin,” Lenore called out before he got there. He turned back, hopeful. “I… I’ll miss you while you’re gone.”
“Thanks, I’ll miss you too,” he said, and then hurried from the room, cursing himself all the while for being unable to say the one thing that mattered.
Surely, whatever happened out there, trying to gain the fragments, it had to be easier than this?
CHAPTER SEVEN
Trapped in a tomb with a dragon just outside and the Hidden just beyond that, Renard had been in worse spots. He couldn’t actually think of what any of them were, but he was sure that he must have.
In theory, of course, he could make the whole thing simple: he could wait for the dragon to leave, then walk out to meet the Hidden. All he had to do then was hand over the amulet that even now siphoned his strength like a fine hole punched at the bottom of a reservoir.
He couldn’t do that, though. Instead, Renard was going to have to do this the hard way.
He checked carefully around the walls of the inner tomb, hoping there would be some hidden way out, some crack or tunnel that had not been there when the makers of this place had built it into the side of the volcano. A nice, convenient way out didn’t seem like too much to ask, did it?
Apparently, it was, which meant that either he walked out the way he’d come, or… or he went out through the opening above the main mausoleum space. Falling to his death versus being caught by the Hidden trying to cross them. Put like that, it was no choice at all.
Renard unlocked the golden doors to the tomb with his tools, hearing the click of it, feeling the sweat running down his brow at the thought of what might be just beyond. More scraping sounded, the dragon clawing to get in, and Renard kept perfectly still until the sound stopped. He left it another minute, then two.
He could sit here forever listening, but sooner or later, he would have to move. He did so, cracking open the door and looking out. The sky above was dimming, the light in the mausoleum less strong now. Renard didn’t dare shine his lantern, though, because that would certainly bring the attention of the beast. Instead, he crept out, seeing what he could by natural light.
There, across the cavernous enclosure, he could see the bulk of the creature. It was still, curled up almost catlike in sleep, its flank rising and falling slowly with its breaths. Renard kept his distance, suspecting that even the slightest sound might wake it.
In the dim light, he surveyed the internal walls of the tomb as best he could. The lower levels were rich with carvings and monuments; an easy climb for someone like him. Higher up though, the stonework seemed to give way to natural rock, and this looked like a far harder climb than the one outside had been.
It was either that or stay here until the dragon woke up, so Renard started to climb. He set off, using the statue of some forgotten warrior for a foothold, then launching himself up to catch an upper row of stonework. He swung his body up, twisting as he went, moving ever higher.
Renard gasped as the stone face of a grotesque form he was using for a handhold gave way, part of it starting to tumble down. His reflexes, at least, were still good, and his hand shot out to catch it, rather than let it clatter to the ground below. For a moment, Renard hung by one hand, his other holding a twisted stone face that seemed to find the whole thing very funny. He was glad one of them did.
Carefully, he searched with his feet, finding footholds that would support him. Just as precisely, he set the stone face down on a shelf of rock, where it could not fall and risk disturbing the dragon below.
He moved quicker now, knowing that even his grip would only last so long like this. He moved from hold to hold, reaching out, setting his hand or his foot in place, shifting his weight. He tried to map out his path to the space where greenery showed above, and his breath caught as he saw a problem.
There was a space where rock had fallen away, leaving no obvious handholds. If he’d had time in a space like that, it wouldn’t have been a problem, because Renard would have worked with hammers and spikes to make his own path. He’d done that once in the treasure vault of a merchant where to even touch the floor would have been to set off a truly elaborate array of traps. Now though, he didn’t know how much time he had until the dragon woke, and he couldn’t risk the sound of hammering into rock. That left only one thing: he would have to leap the gap to the next hold.
For a moment, Renard considered returning to ground level, exiting through the main tunnel, and just trying to sneak past the Hidden. Somehow, though, he doubted that would work. They would catch him, and then…
Yes, there were definitely worse things than falling.
He glanced down in that moment, and below him, he saw one of the dragon’s great, golden eyes open.
That spurred Renard to leap as nothing else could. He heard the dragon’s roar as he propelled himself upward, his body seeming to hang in space forever before his hands found a shelf of rock above. It was sharp edged, digging into his hands, but he didn’t care now, only cared about hauling himself up, out into the open air on the upper slopes of the volcano.
The dragon came soaring out of the hole behind him, powerful wings sending it up into the sky. It circled, and for a moment, Renard thought that it might turn and head straight for him. Instead though, something seemed to distract it, perhaps the sight of prey in the distance, perhaps something else. It wheeled and flew into the distance with rapid beats of its wings.
Renard lay on his back for long seconds, trying to get his breath back after the terror of the last few moments. He couldn’t stay like that long though, because he had no way of knowing when the beast might decide to come back for him. Worse, with it gone, the Hidden might think it was worth the risk to follow him into the mausoleum, might see that he was gone.
He forced himself to stand, if only because he needed all the head start that he could get when it came to enemies like that; and they were his enemies now. They’d become that the moment he’d defied them, the moment he hadn’t just walked out to them with the amulet.
They would probably have killed him anyway, of course. People like that were just the type to double-cross a thief. Was there no honor left in the world? Of course, by doing this, he put more than himself in danger. What might they do to Yselle, or the others back in Lord Carrick’s lands?
Renard just had to hope that they would be too busy hunting for him, and that seemed like a stupid thing for a man to hope. Still, he set off down the far slope of the volcano, heading for the farmland below, moving quickly now. He could feel the thin trickle of strength running out of him from the amulet, but it seemed that as long as he didn’t try to use it, it was only a trickle.
He kept going, and he was on the very lowest slopes when he looked back and saw three robed figures far above. It seemed that Void, Wrath, and Verdant had worked out what he’d done, which meant he needed to run.
He ran, plunging toward the fields, and around him, the landscape seemed to explode with danger. A tree twisted its branches toward him, and Renard barely stepped out of the way in time. A rock became razor-sharp fragments, forcing him to throw himself flat. He got up and kept running.
He leapt over a low stone wall and ran through the fields, darting this way and that, keeping low and hoping that the dark secrets that infused the Hidden only had a limited range. Looking back, he thought that the crops had obscured their view of him, but Renard knew better than to stop. He had enough experience of running away in his life to know that didn’t mean anything.
He kept going, and now he found a stream that was wide, and muddy, and probably waist deep. Beyond it, there was open ground with only a scattering of cover, trees and bushes. A man like Renard might be able to hide there, but for how long? There had to be a better way. Looking at the river, Renard thought that he could see one, but what if—
“We’ll find you!” Wrath roared somewhere behind him. “And then I’ll melt the eyes from your skull!”
His mind made up, Renard took a breath, plunged into the murky waters, and crouched at the bottom.
Instantly, the silty waters hid the world above from view except as faint shadows. The water was cold, rushing around him at speed, but Renard stayed where he was, not daring to move as three figures appeared on the banks above. Echoes of their voices filtered down to him.
“…way he went?” Wrath demanded, his angry red mask visible for all to see.
“We will find him,” Verdant said in that melodic voice she had. She called out. “Come out, Renard, dear. Come and play!”
There was something about the tone of that voice that made Renard’s limbs want to react on their own. He had to fight to keep them in place, and he had to fight more than that, too. His lungs were starting to tell him that it was time to come up for air, but if he did that, he would pop up right in front of the Hidden. The terror of what might happen then kept his head below the water.
How much longer he could do it without drowning, though… Renard’s lungs were starting to burn, while above him, Void was looking around, more frightening with his blank mask than the others put together.
“Keep going,” he said. “Find him. Find the artifact.”
Above Renard, Verdant stepped up to the bank. Branches and vines stretched out over the water, forming a living bridge that creaked and twisted as the three of them stepped across, continuing their chase.
Even when they passed out of sight, Renard left it as long as he could before he came up for air. He left it until blackness pressed in on the edges of his sight, because every second he waited was another that his pursuers were moving away from him.
Finally, he could take it no more, and broke the surface, gasping.
“Damn it,” he said to himself. “Damn them all!”
He held up the amulet, its octagonal form containing a dragon scale, surrounded by runes and gems of different colors. It was what they wanted, but Renard knew that he couldn’t give something so powerful to people like that. Nor could he just hold onto it, not when he could feel it leeching at his life, bit by tiny bit.
What he really needed was a sorcerer of some kind to tell him what to do with it, but Renard didn’t know any of those. He had no experience with magical amulets, no experience with dragons or words that could twist the world, or any of this strangeness. Thankfully though, he did have plenty of experience with stolen goods.
He knew exactly where to get rid of those.
CHAPTER EIGHT
By the time Vars stalked into the great hall, it was already full to its stone-lined walls with people. There were so many there that the large squares of carpet that normally divided them up by rank had given way to only a general approximation. The nobles were there, and the leaders of the Houses of Merchants, Weapons, Scholars, and even Sighs. The doors at the far end were open, letting even more listen in, and setting the banners around the walls to flapping.
Almost as much as their mouths. Vars had never liked the hubbub of the court, and now, with so many voices talking at once it was all the more irritating for it.
“We must maintain a watch on the Slate,” a minor noble said.
“Why?” a knight shot back. “In case Ravin manages to build more bridges while we aren’t looking?”
“Exactly,” the first man said, apparently oblivious to his own stupidity.
“What we need is coordination between ourselves and your personal forces,” Commander Harr said. The commander of the Knights of the Spur stood there in full armor, gray beard halfway down his breastplate so that Vars found himself wondering if the man even slept in it. “We must leave no gaps in our defenses.”
“Meaning that we must shoulder the cost of this?” the leader of the House of Merchants asked, standing there in so many gold chains that just one of them could probably have funded the war.
“We must study what is happening,” the leader of the scholars said, severe in his dark robes and shaven head.
“We must up production,” the representative of the House of Weapons added.
At least the woman from the House of Sighs was quiet, seeming content to watch what was happening. Vars had no use for the opinion of a mere courtesan.
Vars stood in the shadow of the throne, listening to them go on, waiting for one of them to notice his presence. Seconds ticked by as they continued to bicker among one another, some saying that they should hold in place, others that they should advance. Beyond that, there seemed to be no agreement, with every faction having its own would-be strategists, its own ideas of what troops should go where, and how, and who should pay.
He could feel his anger building inside him, washing over even the fear of so many people standing in front of him. He stepped around to the throne, setting himself before it very deliberately.
“Silence!” he yelled. Even then, only some of them fell quiet. “If there is not silence here, I will see this hall cleared by the guards!”
Now there was quiet. In it, all of them stared at him. The anxiety that brought to Vars only made him feel worse. All those eyes staring at him only made him feel small, vulnerable, and Vars hated that.
“I am king now!” he bellowed, in defiance of those stares. “You’re all talking as if you’re deciding what to do about the invasion, but I will decide!”
“Your highness,” a count said, stepping forward. “With respect, this is a decision that affects the entire kingdom, and your father still lives. It is important that all of those affected should have a say.”
Vars glared at the man. “Really? And would you ask the peasants who work your land what they think?”
That seemed to take the man aback. “Your highness, we nobles are not peasants. Our position compared to yours is not as theirs is to us.”
“A king is addressed as your majesty,” Vars snapped back at him.
“But you are the king’s regent, your highness,” said another noble, whom Vars recognized as the Marquis of the Underlands. “While we must respect any decision made in this regard, it is also true that you have the position only as next in line to the throne. No final decision has been made.”
“No final decision about what?” Vars demanded. He could feel control of this slipping away from him.
“About whether you will be king,” the marquis replied.
Vars wanted to have the man beheaded for that, wanted to walk down there and strangle the man with his bare hands. Except… the marquis was a big man, and Vars could feel the fear rising in him, holding him in place, refusing to let him do any of the things that he so desperately wanted to do.
“Such talk borders on treason, my lord,” a voice said from the back. Vars breathed a sigh of relief as he recognized Finnal, pushing his way through the crowd. “And is not something that my father would support.”
The man backed away a little. “I meant nothing by it. Merely that the traditional roles of the nobility must—”
“The traditional role of the nobility is to support the king,” Finnal said. He swept a bow in Vars’s direction. “Please continue, your majesty.”
Buoyed by Finnal’s support, Vars could feel some of his confidence returning.
“We have information that King Ravin’s people are attacking via the Isle of Leveros,” Vars said. “My own sister risked herself to bring that information to us.”
Erin could count as his sister now that she’d done something useful. She would go back to being just his half-sister soon enough.
“We are aware of that,” Commander Harr of the Spur said. “The question is what we do to counter that. The military implications are complex, and—”
“The military situation is simple,” Vars said. “We have information that our enemy did not think we would have. We know that they are attacking to the north. They think that we are distracted fully by the attack on the southern bridges. Therefore we will go to meet them.”
“And what does that mean?” Commander Harr asked. Somehow, the old man had always had a way of asking Vars questions that made him feel as if he knew nothing. “What troops are we to send, and what to leave behind?”
“Why, Commander,” Vars said. “We send your knights.”
“All of them?” the representative from the House of Weapons echoed. “But wouldn’t that leave Royalsport undefended?”
“The guards will remain here, obviously,” Vars said. “And the private forces of my loyal nobles.” He looked around them to ensure that they were loyal. “But the Knights of the Spur will ride north to face the threat, along with as many soldiers as are able to travel quickly. We will attack them as they land, and take them by surprise.”
The brilliance of the plan lay in its simplicity, and its speed. It also meant that the fighting would take place a long way away from the capital. Vars could take the credit for the victory, without ever having to go near the fight. It was the best kind of plan all round.
“I really don’t think—” Commander Harr began, but Vars cut him off.
“We have the advantage,” he said. “Our foe believes that he has tricked us, and that he can ravage the north of our kingdom at will. That situation will not last long. He will anticipate that messengers will flow south after he lands. So we must act now. We throw everything at this in a decisive hammer blow to finish it. We put King Ravin’s head on a pike, and show him that the Southern Kingdom cannot strike at us, cannot kidnap my sister, kill my brother, all but murder my father!”
Vars didn’t care about any of those things, but if those below him did, he would use all of them to get his way.
Still, though, they argued. Where they should have cheered his plan, should have chanted his name, instead they fell into talking among themselves. There were so many people talking at once that Vars could only pick out fragments of it.
“The historical precedents are worrying…” the scholars’ leader said.
“Such a move would mean we would have to shoulder the burden,” a count put in.
“…not to mention the implications for the landscape they move through,” one of the knights said, as if ordinary knights got a say in all of this.
Even the woman from the House of Sighs seemed to think she could speak up, whispering to those next to her in words Vars couldn’t hear. To his surprise, some of them even nodded, as if someone from that House would ever know more about war than their king regent.
“…should wait for orders from King Godwin when he wakes,” a noble said, and Vars could feel his rage growing inside him.
Once more, Finnal stepped in, holding up his hands. “My lords and ladies,” he said. “We have had plenty of chance to discuss this, but the time has come to act. The king’s regent has made a decision for the good of the country, and it is up to us to act upon it. I say now, as a part of his family, and as his friend, I know that King Regent Vars has all of our safety at his heart. We must do this; we must strike at King Ravin’s forces to the north at once!”
That got a cheer, and Vars was grateful for it, even more so when he saw that the knights in the crowd were starting to move, heading for the courtyard to gather supplies. There was a strong sense of satisfaction that came from knowing that people were doing as he commanded, even if it had taken Finnal’s help to do it.
At the same time though, he was angry. Angry that people had talked over him, questioned him, looked down on him even though he was king now in all but name. It was a situation he couldn’t allow to stand, one he couldn’t allow.
He had to act.
