When Dragons Rage by Michael A. Stackpole
Things slowly had begun to shift. She recalled the question she’d asked, one she had immediately withdrawn, but Crow had answered it nonetheless. “No, Princess, this is not how I had anticipated my life running.” He went on to share what his dreams had been, his hopes, and revealed to her some of the pain he’d felt when his mask had been torn from him. His voice had tightened as it had when his broken leg had pained him, though the agony must have been much greater.
His willingness to open himself to her had surprised her. She and Perrine had shared much, but they were sisters. They had been raised together, and amid the Gyrkyme confidences were treated as sacred trusts. The Gyrkyme would prefer death to violating such a trust. Betrayal of secrets was considered a very human thing to do, so she had grown up very wary of trusting any human.
Her great-grandaunt Tatyana’s scheming nature had reinforced her unwillingness to trust men, though her uncle and cousin, Misha, had begun to erode those walls. Still, Alexia’s aloofness inspired few people to confide in her, and she felt little impetus to share with them.
Crow’s sharing fed straight back into her sense of kinship with the Gyrkyme. He trusted her implicitly. While he had protested what she had done to save him from a summary execution, his gratitude had shone forth in the confidences he shared with her.
They had been friends before the marriage charade, each having saved the other’s life several times during their brief adventures. Traveling together had deepened that friendship. Spending night after night with him, availing herself of his warmth, or just listening to him breathe, she began to find the ordinary in a man who was extraordinary. More than once she’d awakened to find herself pressed tight against his back. She’d pulled away immediately, but more slowly each time it happened, and always with growing reluctance. Visiting him in the Meredo gaol, she regretted the lack of that intimacy and more than once had awakened clutching a pillow to herself.
Crow looked in her direction and smiled again as the tribunal dismissed Marsham. Her heart leaped in her breast, and the corners of her mouth curled up into a smile. There was something in his look, something about his pleasure, that seemed contagious. It wasn’t a sensation totally foreign to her, for she knew it with Peri; that pride and happiness at the well-being of a friend. And, as with Peri, she wanted to reach a hand out to touch him.
And she wanted more, to have that smile broadened, to have that pleasure increase on his face . . .
Before she could think further on those lines, Wroxter Dainn, the Oriosan Justice Advocate Supreme, rose and looked to call another witness. Past him, however, against the far wall, a time-faded tapestry began to smoke. A scorch mark darkened it in the center, near the base, and extended up to the height of a man. The smoke thickened, then popped into a flame that exploded upward to engulf the entire tapestry and sent licking tongues up into the cavernous ceiling vaults.
Sparks and glowing embers fell softly as snow amid the throng. There, in the wall, a previously hidden panel opened and a figure stepped forward to be greeted with gasps. He wore a hooded cloak fashioned after the skin of a Grand Temeryx, save that the varicolored plumage consisted not of feathers but a rainbow of flames.
His eyes seemed alive. Mostly blue, they had wisps of white drift through them like thin clouds in a windy sky. In his left hand he raised a white kerchief, at the same time moving his cloak back enough to show the empty scabbard at his left hip. Within the shadow of his mask his mouth opened, revealing white teeth that contrasted sharply with the ebon of his flesh.
“I am Nefrai-kesh. I come beneath a flag of truce. I demand the Oriosan right to speak at the trial of a vassal of mine.”
Augustus had risen from his seat. Linchmere cowered in his, as did most of the spectators. Dainn had recoiled and the queen covered her mouth with her left hand. Crow remained seated, but had outstretched his left hand in Alexia’s direction, to keep her back and safe. She’d also gained her feet, and her hand had fallen to where the hilt of her sword should have been.
The first to act, however, was Will Norrington. He shot to his feet and pointed a wavering finger at the sullanciri. “H-he’s not your vassal, he’s mine.”
Nefrai-kesh’s head came around quickly. The Aurolani general smiled, then he nodded once, solemnly. “Now you are the son I wish I’d had.”
“Maybe if you’d been a better father, he would have been.” Will’s grey eyes tightened beneath the mask and he drew the dagger he’d been allowed to carry. “Where he failed, I won’t.”
The sullanciri opened his arms. “You will come to my embrace. Now, later. The timing does not matter. You are my true heir, and there is much I will give you.”
Crow rose. “Will, stay back.”
“I’m not afraid of him.”
“You should be.” Crow looked at the sullanciri. “And you, baiting children?”
“He wears a mask. He is a man, with a man’s responsibilities and duties. You remember those, don’t you, Tarrant?” Nefrai-kesh stepped to the Throne of Truth. “King Augustus, you will recognize the truce and my right to speak. My heir presumptive has asserted a claim that is invalid, since neither I nor my son is deceased, and the formalities to dispossess us have not been observed.”
Will brandished his dagger. “Don’t listen to him.”
Augustus frowned. “This is a legal proceeding, Lord Norrington. Rules must be observed. I believe you can be seated, Nefrai-kesh, if you will be sworn to tell the truth.”
The young thief snarled. “He works for Chytrine. She made him into a monster! A snake can slither a straight line easier than he’ll tell the truth.”
Linchmere uncoiled timidly. “We have to hear him. It is the Law.”
“Then it’s stupid!” Will reached up, ripped off his own mask, and tossed it into the well of the court before turning and stalking out of the chamber. “When Chytrine comes to kill you, you’ll give her a courtesy mask and say ‘please’ and ‘thank you.’ Rot the lot of you!”
Only the tiny snapping of the flames on the sullanciri’s cloak filled the silence in the wake of Will’s departure. The assembled Oriosans stared at the flaccid mask lying on the floor. Even Crow looked stricken as he slowly sank back into his chair.
Nefrai-kesh raised his right hand. “I swear to tell the whole of the truth, accepting Kedyn’s retribution if I lie.”
Wroxter Dainn, whose florid face streamed with sweat, struggled to compose himself. “You have come to testify about the conduct of Tarrant Hawkins?”
“From afar, yes, I have come.” Nefrai-kesh’s rich voice filled the chamber, but Alexia felt as if she was hearing him with more than her ears. Magick is at work here. Even knowing she was being manipulated, she could not shake the sense that his words were sincere and truthful.
“I led the expedition into Boragul. Once there we did encounter the Empress Chytrine, but none of us knew it at the time. We accepted the hospitality of the urZrethi and only discovered too late that we were in a trap. The woman we had pursued had us at her mercy.”
The sullanciri opened his left hand toward Crow, letting the handkerchief flutter to the ground. “I would first speak in praise of Hawkins. Of all the accusations against him, the most foul are those of cowardice. On the day of our damnation he was the most courageous. He alone fought his way back to our chambers. There he found me, he succored me, and did all he could to safeguard me, as a vassal should. I was sorely wounded—mortally so, save for the intervention of magick. Let no one who hears me ever think he was anything but a hero.
“Once a hero, however, and once a knave. He did commit treason that day. He defied me. Thrice I asked him to do me a service. I demanded it of him as was my right.”
Dainn mopped his brow with a handkerchief. “What was that duty?”
Before the sullanciri could answer, an agonized groan twisted from Crow’s throat. “I could not kill you.”
“Oh, but would that you had, Tarrant.” Nefrai-kesh laid his hand against his breastbone. “Had you
“You know why I could not.”
The sullanciri slowly shook his head. “The reasoning of a vassal is nothing when it contradicts the order of your lord. So, Augustus, you see what it is? He could have saved you all this, but he did not.”
King Augustus shook his head. “Being dead does not preclude one from joining the ranks of the sullanciri.”
“True, but everyone on that expedition knew the qualitative difference between those who had become sullanciri pre- and postmortem. He knew.”
Crow looked at his hands. “I didn’t believe you would be so weak.”
“But I told you, Hawkins. I trusted you, and you failed me.” The sullanciri stood. “Despite what my grandson charged, I have spoken the truth, and Hawkins has verified it. I know Oriosan law and custom. You may have many speak for him, and more speak against him, but your duty is clear.”
Linchmere sat forward. “Do not presume to lecture us, changeling!”
Nefrai-kesh’s smile flowed into a predatory display of teeth. “Oh, someone thinks he has a spine. It can be torn out, you know, bone by bone, so numb death slowly spreads through you. I would enjoy that, my prince. Will you indulge me?”
The Oriosan Prince squeaked and curled into a ball in his throne.
Augustus stepped forward. “Enough, Nefrai-kesh. Preserve the illusion that a bit of the man I respected resides in you still.”
“If you wish to believe in illusions, Augustus, feel free to delude yourself as long as you like.” The sullanciri stood, then raked the clawed fingers of his left hand through the air. Black slits appeared as if he had rent some canvas. “The man you respected is no more, but the man you know to fear is yet here. And shall be for a long, long time.”
As he spoke his gaze shifted from Augustus to Crow and then her. Their eyes locked for a second and a huge jolt ran through Alexia. It did not feel as if he’d read her mind, but she felt certain he knew it. That realization shook her, but before she could act or speak, he slipped through the rents and they vanished behind him.
Crow turned toward her. “Are you hurt?”
She shivered and shook her head. “No, not at all. You?”
He shifted his shoulders stiffly. “In no real sense.” He fell silent for a moment, then shook his head. “I couldn’t kill him.”
Alexia did lean forward and rest a hand on his shoulder. “He knew that when he asked you to do it. Just as I did when I asked you to promise to kill me if I ever looked to go over to Chytrine. You were right in what you told me, and you were right in denying him then.”
“But he’s right, I could have saved everyone.”
Alexia gave him a brave smile and squeezed his shoulder. “And yet you shall, Crow. And yet you shall.”
CHAPTER 20
T he sharp, raw, torn sensation in the back of his throat remained with Kerrigan Reese even after the echoes of the harsh cough that awakened him had faded. Curled up as tightly as his girth would allow him, he lay naked, in complete darkness, on his left side. The cold, hard stone beneath him had leached a lot of his body heat. In his mouth was the sour taste of old vomit, and his head ached.
As he tried to straighten out, two more things added to his discomfort. The first was the aching in his back. Whatever had hit him had done so very solidly. Battered muscles protested, and the fatty flesh covering them provided a chorus accompaniment. Even his kidneys ached, and Kerrigan dreaded the damage he’d find if he cast a diagnostic spell.
He would have been tempted to do that, but had a more immediate concern: he was fettered. Stout manacles surrounded his wrists and ankles. Reaching down, he could easily grasp the heavy chains to which his bonds had been joined, though when he took up the slack, the wrist chains did not pull at his ankles. The chain did tighten, though, and one wrist did pull against the other, so he imagined some ring in the floor of his prison to which he was fastened.
The magicker lay very still and thought for a moment. That he was a prisoner was obvious. Having been taken by the Vilwanese was a possibility, and that only indicated how seriously they wanted him back. They would have had to bring in someone or something that could neutralize him. While he was certain that could happen, wouldn’t the apprehension have taken place in a more controlled area? He was on his way to the consulate where they could have taken him at their leisure.
And he doubted that, in taking him, they would have seen a benefit in his being half drowned.
The other alternative that left open was Chytrine. He wracked his brain to see if there was anything he had done to attract her attention. He had created a duplicate of one fragment of the DragonCrown and had tampered with another fragment, but he sincerely doubted she could track him through that magick. And other than that covert work, he had done nothing to make her see him as a threat. Any attack would have been better executed on Princess Alexia or Will.
It was entirely possible, of course, that the duplicate he had made would let her track the fragment. But having the means to go after the fragment made it unlikely she would have had him attacked. Once she had the fragment, he was immaterial, so the attack made no sense. More important, if she had seen him as a threat, why she would leave him alive?
But if not Vilwan or Chytrine, then who?
Aside from the sound of his own breathing and the irregular pit-pat of water dropping on stone, the chamber had remained quiet. Because of the darkness Kerrigan could see nothing and couldn’t even begin to guess how big the room was. The mageyes spell would take care of that problem, so he gathered himself to cast it.
Before he could get the spell off, however, something clicked in the darkness. It came from behind him, but tiny and distant. As sounds went, it wasn’t much. Just a simple click.
Kerrigan held his breath. He waited, straining his ears. More water dripped, sometimes one drop on top of the other, but no more clicks. Kerrigan slowly let his breath out, then drew one in through his nose, forcing himself to be quiet even though his lungs wanted cool air to quench the fire in them.
Click.
It came louder this time, and in front of him, down toward where he imagined that ring was set in the floor. Could it have been a link hitting the ring? He let the sound run through his mind again, but caught no metal in it. No, it was more like stone on stone.
Or claw on stone.
For a heartbeat, then two, the terrible image of a temeryx lurking out there, circling him, shook Kerrigan and made the links rattle. Temeryces served Chytrine the way dogs served huntsmen. The feathered beasts had narrow heads with lots of sharp teeth, huge, sickle-shaped claws on their feet, and smaller grasping clawed hands that they clutched tightly to their breasts. He’d seen the sort of bite they could leave on a man, and had no desire to see if he could heal himself with magick faster than it could devour him.
He fought back panic for two reasons. The first was that he couldn’t cast a spell if he couldn’t think, and he had to think to get out of his current situation. And the second was that he did have the magickal armor that would reward the temeryx with a mouthful of bony plates.
His invulnerability heartened him. He calmed himself again and forced himself to breathe more regularly. He remained quiet and listened, but focused more on choosing a spell to cast. He really had two choices: either a spell that would allow him to see in the dark, or a spell that would actually illuminate the place. The light spell he had managed to employ in a similarly dark place had blinded his assailants and facilitated his escape but, chained up as he was, he wasn’t going to be running off fast. He chose to save that spell for a reserve and instead prepared to cast the night vision spell.
Kerrigan set himself and limbered his fin
Thwock!
Something hit him and hit him hard, on the right shoulder, and bounced off to clatter in the darkness. That sound definitely was stone on stone; I was hit by a rock. The bony plate that had risen to protect him sank away again, taking with it all but the faintest hint of pain from the impact.
Kerrigan groaned. The invocation of the protective spell also shredded the weaving of the night vision spell. The armor took precedence and was cast subconsciously. Its urgency demanded all of his abilities, so the delicate spell he’d been working on evaporated.
He began to cast it again, but before he could complete the working another stone clipped him.
“Hey!”
The sound that replied almost convinced him that there was a temeryx present. It started as a hiss, then descended into a mad little laugh. It alternated between serpentine sibilance and a giggle. Kerrigan found nothing benign about it. A shiver slithered up his spine, then he levered himself up on his left elbow and twisted around to sit facing the location of the sound.
The chain on his feet stopped him short of his goal.
The undulating sound stopped for a moment, then another rock smacked Kerrigan square in the chest. It rebounded to his lap. After a moment’s bobbling, the magicker grabbed it, then raised his right hand back to throw it. The chain rattled, but before he could start to throw, the chain was yanked hard.
The stone flew off into the darkness as Kerrigan spun around to the right. Another yank on the foot chain continued to spin him on his bare rump across the floor, and no bony plates appeared to save him the chafing abrasions. Tipping off-balance, he rolled, tangling his legs in the chain, and finding himself suddenly half-buried nose first in a bed of dry straw.