Морган Райс
Realm of Dragons
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Erin rode for the Spur, pushing her horse, wanting to get there before her father realized she wasn’t coming back and sent men after her. Because she wasn’t going back; not after what she’d heard.
“They think they can just sell me like some cheap whore!” Erin complained to her horse.
Well, not cheap. Probably, her parents would want to get a whole dukedom’s loyalty for her, the way they’d done with Lenore.
“They’ll have to change their minds when I make it into the Spur,” she said. She could see the fortress out in the distance, its multiple rings of walls sitting atop an outcrop of glassy rock at odds with the rest of the landscape, forged by the heat of long-forgotten dragon-fire. In the far north of the kingdom, practically the whole land was said to be like that, with volcanoes everywhere one looked. Here, it was an incongruous black mark against the farmland around it.
There was a stone bridge leading up to the fortress that looked almost like a natural thing, rather than anything humans could have constructed. Erin rode her horse up to it, then leapt down to lead him across.
A figure in full armor barred her way.
“Hold,” he said. “Who are you, and why have you come to the Spur?”
“I am…” Erin hesitated. If they knew the truth of who she was, then they might send her back. Still, there had to be more than one girl with her name in the kingdom, right? “Erin. I’m Erin. I’m here to join your number. I want to be a knight.”
The man stood there for a moment. “You?” he said. “But you’re—”
“If you say ‘a girl,’” Erin said, “I will push you off this bridge.”
“No,” the man said. “You will not. And I was going to say that you’re young and inexperienced.”
“I’ve fought men,” Erin shot back. “I’ve killed men. Bandits who were hurting folk. Isn’t that what the Knights of the Spur do? Help people?”
“We serve the king,” the knight said. “But yes, we fight the evils of the world. You still cannot enter.”
Erin had prepared for this part. She knew the stories, and what to say.
“They say that anyone may seek to join the knights. Anyone, man or woman, high or low born. They say that you turn no one away.”
The knight on the bridge stood, if anything, even stiller than he had. “That… is true. Any may ask to join our number, at least, if they can get inside.”
“Then step aside and let me pass,” Erin said. Was this a test? Was she supposed to fight this man?
He stood there in his armor, blocking her path. He didn’t draw a blade, and Erin wasn’t sure what to do. She had her stick in her hand, but she couldn’t just strike this man down, especially not now she knew what it was like.
“How do I get past you?” Erin asked.
“You convince me that you’re sincere,” he said. “You tell me why you’re here, and you’re honest about it. I know there’s plenty you’re hiding, girl.”
“I’ve told you,” Erin said, not understanding. “I want to join the knights.”
“Do you?” he asked. “Why?”
“I…”
“Kneel there, on the rock, and wait. When you tell me the truth, I’ll decide.”
Erin wanted to snap at him, wanted to order him aside in the name of her father, but something told her that it wouldn’t work. She wanted to strike at the man, but she couldn’t bring herself to do that, either. So she did the only thing she could think of, and knelt, and waited.
The rock was hard underneath her, cutting into her legs and eventually numbing them. She knelt, and because there was no sign that the watchman wanted to talk, all she could do was stare ahead.
“How long do I have to stay here?” she demanded.
“You can leave any time you want,” the guard said. “You can go past any time, too, if you’re honest.”
“I’m being honest.”
“Not to yourself.”
Erin waited. She waited until her body ached with the stillness, and her mind ached with it too. All her life, she’d been someone who wanted to move, to do, to act. Her mother had tried to get her to sit still and be ladylike, but Erin had always been ready to run off, to train, and to fight.
“Why do you want to be here?” the knight demanded, after what had to be more than an hour. “Why don’t you just get up and go back?”
Erin shook her head and stayed there. Overhead, the sun wore on in its progress, the day sliding closer to evening. The knight stood there too, staying at his post.
“Why are you here?” he repeated.
“You want to know why I’m here?” Erin snapped, her temper finally giving way. “I’m here because all my life, all I’ve ever wanted to do was fight. I was playing with swords while my sisters were playing with dolls. And all of that counts for nothing, because my parents want to give me away in marriage!” She stood and moved to the knight. “You can get out of my way, or I’ll get you out of my way. I’ve already killed people once today.”
Infuriatingly, he didn’t step back; didn’t even draw his blade. “And what did that feel like?”
Erin wanted to tell him that it had been fine; that it had been easy.
“Awful,” she admitted.
“And?”
“Exciting.” That was the part she knew she should have been ashamed of, even afraid of. “I told myself that it needed doing, and it did, but it was more than that. I went there because I wanted to prove myself, and because I was angry with my parents. I’m here for the same reasons, and because… well, I like to fight.”
To her surprise, the knight stepped to one side.
“Finally,” he said. “We have some truth from you. Not all of it, but enough. Pass in peace.”
Erin stood, and her legs hurt now, so that even the path across the bridge became a test. Every step she took required effort, and she leaned on her staff-spear like a beggar in a market. She walked until she reached the fortress gates, which stood invitingly open, the space beyond empty.
Instantly, Erin found herself suspicious. She paused at the edge of the gate, looked up, and saw the openings there. She looked down, and saw the faint glimmer of wires on the floor. Stepping back, she picked up a rock and threw it in amongst the wires.
Darts fell down from the openings, razor sharp and heavy. If they hit her, they would kill her; Erin had no doubt about it. It was another test. That made Erin angry, and strangely, it wasn’t the thought of being killed that made her angry; it was the thought that they were trying to trick her, to test her, that they couldn’t see that she should be one of them. She’d thought that she was through the tests.
She would get through, though. The darts kept falling, and Erin found herself standing there, trying to understand it. It took her a minute to understand the rhythm of it, the pattern. Getting through without hitting any of the remaining wires would take timing and balance, and doing it without the darts striking her would take speed.
“It’s a test,” Erin told herself, trying to calm herself. “Just a test.”
She leapt through the opening, placing her feet with the speed of a dancer as she sped forward. Erin felt something brush by her shoulder, but she kept going, determined now, and knowing that to stop was to die. She flung herself through and rolled, coming up on the far side of the gate with her spear in her hand.
A man was waiting there, armored and carrying a longsword. He was white-haired, with a beard that came down almost to his waist, braided and tied back.
“I am Commander Harr, of the Knights of the Spur,” he said. “And you are Princess Erin, the one who wants to fight for us, be one of us.”
“You know who I am?” Erin asked, surprised.
A second figure stepped up beside the commander. Erin recognized the knight who had been at the bridge. Irritation flashed in Erin. There was a second entrance; of course there was. She’d rushed in the front way, but of course there would be another way.
“Why are you here, girl?” the commander asked.
“I want to join you,” Erin said.
“Are you sure?” he asked. “The third test is deadly. The knights only take the best.”
“I can handle it.”
“Your father would not be pleased if you were hurt,” he said. “I should turn you back.”
“They say that the knights will test anyone who wants to join,” Erin shot back. “Regardless of who they are.”
“That much is true,” the commander said. “It still does not make what you are doing wise. I will not go easy on you because of who you are.”
“I wouldn’t expect it,” Erin replied. Why would she want them to go easy? She wanted to prove herself.
“I didn’t go easy on your brother Rodry when he joined our number,” the commander said. “I think stories of it put off your other brothers.”
Erin suspected that it had more to do with who her brothers were. Vars wouldn’t risk his hide in an even contest like that, and Greave had no love of violence.
“I’m not my brothers,” Erin assured him.
“You’ve passed two tests.” He drew his blade. “I am the third.”
“I’m to fight you?” Erin asked.
“If you still wish to join our ranks. There is still time to walk away, to go home. Our life is not for everyone. Perhaps you should—”
“I’m ready,” Erin repeated.
In answer to that, the commander swung his blade at her. It was so fast and ferocious that Erin barely leapt back in time from it, and she knew that if she’d still been standing there, the stroke would have taken her head off her shoulders.
That brought fear with it. The old man really wasn’t holding back. Even with what her father might say or do if she died, he was still striking with ferocious power.
“All right,” she said, unsheathing the bladed head of her spear. Even as she did it, the commander struck again, and again.
Erin gave ground, trying to find an opening to strike back. Her spear darted out and bounced off the commander’s armor. She stepped back, half expecting him to acknowledge the blow.
He kicked her hard enough to send her sprawling. Erin cursed, rolled to her feet, and just managed to get her spear in the way of the next blow. Even that was enough to stagger her. She was getting angry now. What kind of test was this? What was the point of a test that was little more than a fight to the death?
It didn’t help that fear was building up in her again, because how could she hope to fight a man who was so well armored, who could survive almost any blow she struck?
“If that’s what you want,” Erin muttered to herself. She flung herself forward, striking again and again and again. The head of her spear was a striking snake, attacking again and again, trying to find the gaps in the commander’s armor.
Each time, though, he twisted just enough to let her blows strike solid plate, parried or cut so that Erin had to break off her attack. Then his leg swept around, and Erin found her feet kicked from under her. Her spear clattered from her hand, and now there was a sword coming for her, and she knew there was no way to avoid it.
Erin wanted to cry out, wanted to roll away or beg, but she didn’t; she forced herself not to do it. Instead, she lay there and looked up, and waited for the end that was coming. The blade swept down with brutal speed, and Erin found herself thinking about all the things she would miss when she was dead. She found herself thinking of her sisters, even maybe her brothers, and all the moments she wouldn’t be there for…
The blade stopped an inch from her neck.
Commander Harr took it away while Erin lay there panting, not understanding, her fear still there. She could push it down now, though. Commander Harr held out a hand and Erin took it, still not understanding even as he pulled her to her feet.
“Being a warrior isn’t just about skill,” he said. “We can teach skill. A Knight of the Spur needs to be honest with themselves and their fellows, needs to act decisively when they must, and needs to be able to face death head on when it comes.”
“What are you saying?” Erin asked. “I lost.”
“Everyone loses,” Commander Harr said. “Even I lost. It’s about how you lose, sometimes, and the parts of yourself that you show when you do. You showed that you are brave. Reckless, perhaps, but brave.”
“So…” Erin didn’t dare to hope it.
“I’m saying that you’re in, girl. For now. You will be a squire here, serving with the knights. You will learn, and if you learn, you will stay. If you fail, you will be sent back to Royalsport. It is that simple. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Commander Harr.”
He nodded, a certain gruff acknowledgment in the movement. “Very well. Welcome to the Spur.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
In her chambers, Lenore was finally starting to think that everything might be perfect. Oh, she knew that Finnal’s father and hers had had last-minute talks about things to do with her dowry, but those seemed to have been sorted out now, and her siblings had been told to play their parts: Erin and Nerra had even sat through a dress fitting earlier, with Erin glowering hard in case anyone dared to call her pretty, and Nerra changing behind a screen so that no one might see her.
The guests were starting to come into the city, the festivities were in place, and the whole order of the procession around the kingdom was arranged. Yes, Lenore would rather have had Rodry than Vars escorting her, but maybe this would be a good chance for her to build some bridges with her brother.
Lenore looked out from her window over Royalsport. The tide was in, so that it became a glittering thing of islands surrounded by the shimmer of water. In moments like this, even the city was beautiful. Still, Lenore had to turn away from it, because there was still plenty to do.
“What’s the itinerary for the wedding procession?” she asked.
One of her maids, Zia, took out a map of the kingdom. It showed the south too, but only in vague terms. The river cut them off from one another so completely that it was almost not worth mapping it. Idly, Lenore found herself wondering what it might be like there. Maybe one day, she and her husband would make the trip over one of the bridges to find out, maybe on a diplomatic mission.
Lenore smiled at that thought. She was already planning out her life with Finnal even though she wasn’t married to him yet. Just the thought of him made her heart swell; he was so handsome, so courtly, so perfect.
“We’ll head down through the villages along this route,” Zia said, “sweeping south until we come to the coast. Then we’ll head west, and north.”
“And how long will this take?” Lenore asked. “Have we arranged supplies for all of it?”
“Orianne was doing that,” Zia said. She looked around. “I’m not sure where she is today. She said that someone had come she needed to talk to.”
“I’m sure she has a good reason,” Lenore said. Orianne was one of the women who had been by her side the longest, the daughter of a minor noble house whose parents had decided that the best thing to do was to send her to serve beside a princess. Zia was the same, but had only been with Lenore a few months. Orianne would be the one Lenore trusted with most of the details.
“I’m sure she does,” Zia agreed, because Lenore refused to allow her maids to backbite or try to play politics within her circle. She dismissed those who did not help one another as well as her.
They kept going with the preparations, and even with most of it in place, it still seemed that there was a mountain of things to do. They would need wagons for the journey and drivers, sufficient clothes for all weather and an idea of the concerns of each village and region so that Lenore would not appear ignorant of them as she rode through. Then for the wedding itself, there were still issues with the precedence of the seating, and the exact details of the feast, the choice of the entertainers’ songs, and—
“Your highness!”
Lenore turned at the sound of Orianne’s voice. The maid was approaching with another woman beside her, and this one wasn’t dressed for the royal court. Oh, her clothes were expensive enough, almost on par with Orianne’s, but there was something about the cut and the style that spoke of lasciviousness and sensuality in a way that Lenore would never have permitted among those around her.
The woman herself was older than Lenore, perhaps thirty, with jet-black hair curling past her shoulders and a rouge-tinged smile that seemed to be mocking the world. She offered a curtsey before Lenore, but even the way she did that was a far cry from the innocent elegance of the court.
“Orianne?” Lenore said. “Who is this?”
“Your highness,” her maid said, “this is someone to whom I sometimes go for information.”
“Meredith, mistress of the House of Sighs,” the woman said, straightening up and not waiting to be introduced.
Lenore’s breath caught at that. “You’ve brought a… a whore into my chambers?”
A flicker of irritation crossed the new woman’s features. “It is strange that we are a House as old as the scholars or the weapon smiths, or the players or merchants or the builders, and yet people talk of us with such shame. Still, I am used to it, and it is shame that I have come to talk to you about, Princess.”
“I have nothing that I need to be ashamed of,” Lenore said.
“That is true,” Meredith replied, “but perhaps there are things that you need to be protected from.”
“I don’t know what you have in mind, but—”
“Please hear her out, Lenore,” Orianne said. “You might not approve of Meredith, but she has given me plenty of good information before now, and what she’s come to me with… well, you need to hear it.”
That was enough to make Lenore pause. She knew Orianne would only have her interests at heart, and she’d heard that the House of Sighs was sometimes a place where people said things they shouldn’t. As much as Lenore wanted the older woman out of her presence, she knew she should listen.
“Wine?” she said, and one of her maids brought out a glass. Meredith took it and sipped it.
“From the vineyards of Helast in the south,” she said. “Not bad.”
“You know about wine?” Lenore said.
“About all the luxuries and pleasures,” Meredith replied. “But that is not what you want to hear from me, is it?”
“What is it you’ve come to tell me?” Lenore asked. “And what do you want in return? Coin?”
“Ordinarily, it would be coin,” Meredith said. “I can hardly be ashamed about asking for that. Today though… consider it a wedding present.”
Lenore didn’t trust that. A woman like this wouldn’t do anything unless there was a payoff for her.
“What do you have to tell me?” she repeated.
Meredith smiled in a way that said she knew the effect she was having. “Simply this: your pristine, loving, faithful husband-to-be? He was in my establishment last night, surrounded by beautiful girls… and boys.”
Lenore froze.
“In that, he was rather loose-lipped,” Meredith said. “He spoke about you, dear, about how he wished he didn’t need to marry you, but that his father was insisting, for the connection to royal blood. Apparently, they’ve argued about it.”
Lenore shook her head. “No.”
“Yes,” Meredith said. “Of course, hearing the truth can often be a shock, but—”
“No,” Lenore snapped, her body rigid with tension. “No, I don’t know why you’re doing this, but I will not hear these lies!”
Meredith shrugged and set down her wine glass. “Believe what you want. I have done my part in this. I’m sure you’ll see the truth in time.”
Lenore went to slap her, her anger getting the better of her, but Meredith caught the blow.
“One of your family has done quite enough of that already. It’s part of why I’m here. Now, I’ll take my leave. Good luck, your highness.”
She turned and walked out, leaving Lenore there not knowing what to think, or do, or say. She turned her attention to Orianne, who was still standing there as if she might comfort Lenore, but Lenore wanted no part of it.
“Get out,” she said to her former friend.
“Lenore…”
“That’s ‘your highness,’” Lenore said, feeling the frost in her voice. “You bring lies like this to me, and you expect me to be happy?”
“Not happy,” Orianne said, “but I thought you needed to hear it. When Meredith told me—”
“And where were you to be told anything by her?” Lenore said. “I have a maid who hangs around with whores? What were you doing in the House of Sighs?” She paused. “It’s obvious that I cannot have a maid to whom scandal will attach so easily. You need to go now. Go, and do not come back. You are dismissed from my service.”
“Please—”
“Do not speak,” Lenore snapped. In that moment, Orianne’s years of service didn’t matter; only what she’d said. “Just leave. If you are still here in the morning, I will have guards escort you from the castle.”
Her maid turned and left, and Lenore just stood there, feeling the anger burning inside her. Zia was there looking caught between trying to comfort her and fear of what she might do.
“We will not speak of this, or of her, again,” Lenore said. “Ever.”
