Spine of the Dragon

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Her expression tightened. “Send the key priestlord here without delay.” She made up her mind that she would not lose this battle entirely.

  * * *

  Waiting for Klovus in her throne room, Iluris wore a lavish silk dress with gold embroidery and delicate silk slippers with cabochon jewels. The pleats of her dress rustled with each movement, the vibrant magenta, orange, and green cloth draped artfully. She also wore a jeweled collar and headdress. As empra, she looked magnificent.

  The key priestlord arrived an hour later with an entourage of robed ur-priests. He wore a dark blue caftan trimmed with crimson, the fabric quilted to make himself look more imposing. His head and round cheeks were freshly shaved, and his skin glistened with scented oils.

  As soon as he strode through the doors, she rose from her throne and faced him. The echoing reception hall held decorative sculptures of the primary godlings that protected the thirteen districts. Her displeasure was evident in her voice. “You took your time to arrive, Priestlord. I asked you to come immediately.” Her gold-uniformed hawk guards stood on either side of the throne dais, curved helmets in place, scarlet capes hanging at their shoulders. “I see you found the opportunity to bathe and change—while I was waiting for you.”

  His smug smile faltered. He laced his fingers together over his stomach, and lowered his gaze in an attempt to look respectful. “I bore the stink of the ship and blood from our battles on my clothing, Excellency. It would have been disrespectful to appear before you in such a state.”

  “I’ve seen sweat and dirt before, Priestlord.” She stepped back to her throne. “I would rather you obey my orders than tend to your personal hygiene.”

  He bowed even more deeply, but he seemed to be bursting with satisfaction. “My apologies, Excellency. I was so caught up in our exciting news. As you can see, the people are already celebrating!” He gestured behind him as if to encompass not only all of Serepol, but the entire continent of Ishara. “You’ll understand the importance of this day. We attacked a village on the godless coast and left many dead and grieving, while our losses were minimal.” He grinned.

  Her chamberlain Nerev, tall, dour, and silent, stood near a writing table with an inkpot and sheets of paper, in case Iluris might need his services.

  “Best of all,” Klovus continued, “our godling demonstrated tremendous power—and it was just a minor godling, taken from the harbor temple. Think what we could accomplish with stronger godlings from the primary temples. We could purge the Commonwealth, once and for all.”

  “And how would my people benefit from that?” The empra held her annoyance in check. “The old world is worn and weak, damaged in the ancient wars, its magic faded to almost nothing. Why would we want it? Why is it worth Isharan blood, when we have so many untapped resources here, so much to do?”

  Klovus looked startled, as if the answer were obvious even though he couldn’t articulate it.

  Iluris continued, “We have our own pristine continent, lush with magic. Under my rule, Ishara has prospered and the citizens are content. The godlings reflect the mood of the people, and they are mostly benevolent and calm. Why would you want to change that?”

  His expression pinched. “Contented godlings are weak godlings. When the people grow lax, they think that sacrifices are no longer necessary. But during my raid, the harbor godling proved how necessary they are.” A flush came to his rounded cheeks.

  “Your entire raid was unnecessary! You create conflict to perpetuate conflict, and we don’t need it.” She pointed a lacquered nail at him. In the throne room, the hawk guards and Chamberlain Nerev watched in uncomfortable silence. “Klovus, I did not authorize this offensive. You didn’t ask permission to take my navy and my soldiers off to fight.”

  Several of the ur-priests were alarmed at her open chastisement, while others maintained unwavering beatific expressions. Despite the scolding, the key priestlord acted innocent and jovial. “Ah, but it all turned out for the best. We achieved a singular and unqualified victory for Ishara. The people will celebrate in your name and increase their sacrifices to the godlings. We both benefit. How could anyone quibble?”

  Iluris took her seat in the tall ornate chair and regarded him in silence. She did not give him leave to relax. Her hard gaze did not waver.

  He fidgeted, looking up at the throne until his expression finally showed a hint of anxiety. “Excellency, the priestlords have always given our devotion to you, as we did to Emprir Daka before you, and all the others in a long line of rulers. Every priestlord, ur-priest, priest, and acolyte is loyal to you. We wish only prosperity for our people and victory over our enemies. With this glorious raid, I wanted to convince you how important the godlings are to our future. They anchor the beliefs of the people and protect them from storms and outside attacks.” His words picked up urgency. “But our grand vision has rested quietly for too long. Half a century ago, your father began constructing the Magnifica temple. Ishara’s primary godling is strong, but cannot achieve its full potential until the temple is completed. Serepol will be home to the strongest godling ever to manifest in the entire world.”

  Iluris frowned as she waited for him to catch his breath. “And what purpose would such a tremendous godling serve? Our land is already thriving, and our people are strong. What possible threat does Ishara face that would require such a defender?”

  Klovus sputtered. “Why … the godless Commonwealth! We have to be strong against them. That is why we need to build the Magnifica temple and let our godling grow, so it can be the powerful protector Ishara needs.”

  She arched her eyebrows. “Oh? Didn’t you just boast that with only one warship and a minor godling, you destroyed an entire town? Isn’t that why my city is now celebrating?” Her gold-flecked eyes flashed. Outside the palace, the cheering continued.

  “Why, yes … but one can never be sure. What if the godless konag and his people rediscover some magic in their tired old land? Their armies invaded Ishara when you were barely seventeen, and we must never let that happen again. The only way to defend ourselves is to make our godling so strong that no one can stand against us.” He stepped right up to the edge of the throne dais. “The Magnifica temple must be built. The people are ready!” His eyes were pleading, his voice solicitous, but she could still see the razor within him, the smoldering anger because she wouldn’t do as he wished, and thereby she denied him the clout he so craved.

  Klovus lowered his voice. “Your people want this, Excellency. We see them at their worship every day, in every district. They are ready to build.”

  She adjusted her embroidered silk skirts, tapped one bejeweled slipper against the other. “Alas, Ishara has more immediate needs, but I agree the people are ready to build. While you were away on your raid, I redistributed the construction materials stockpiled at the Magnifica site so they could better serve the Isharan people. Since we won’t continue work on the temple in the foreseeable future, those tools and supplies will build roads and homes and schools, which the districts need right now.” She smiled. “The people are grateful for what you have done for them, and I am sure the godling will be pleased.”

  Klovus nearly lost control of himself. “But … but you had no right!”

  “The temples exist for the good of the people, as you have reminded me so many times. We both have the same goal: to keep Ishara strong. But I am the empra, and I decide whether or not we want war.” She rose from the throne and glided down the stairs to take his arm. “Now come with me out to the balcony, Priestlord. We’ll address the gathered people and tell them of your great victory at Mirrabay, and you will receive credit for your generous donation of the construction materials. But it will end there.” She gave him a sharp smile. “We are much stronger together, don’t you agree?”

  Empra Iluris could tell that Klovus knew his best play was to show solidarity with her. But despite his manufactured smile, she knew that cooperation was the farthest thing from his mind.

  14

&n
bsp; DIGGING in the mines of Scrabbleton was hard work, but Elliel found peace in the day’s labors. She had her pick and shovel, a bucket for bringing debris to the larger carts that hauled rocks out to the sorting bins. The glow of lantern light and the close warmth in the humid passageways comforted her. Some claimed that the fires deep in Mount Vada were the exhalations of the sleeping dragon Ossus, though that was surely just a myth. Each time she took a breath, she did smell sulfur.

  As a Brava, she had deceptive physical strength, but instead of using it in battle, she swung her pick and struck the unyielding wall, chipped away more rock. The Scrabbleton miners had worked the mountain for centuries, worming their way through ore veins like termites boring through rotten wood. In her short time here, Elliel had grown fond of the wholesome and honest townspeople, who had in turn begun to accept her. This place might actually serve as a home for a while.

  Elliel worked alone in a section of the tunnels, without having to answer questions about herself. Down here, she could let her thoughts fall into dull silence. After awakening to her new life with her legacy gone, she had accepted Utho’s damning letter. Elliel had wandered from place to place ever since, fleeing her past. She had murdered those poor children and their teacher, and she wanted to be far from where she had done it. She could remember two winters, so it had been at least two years since she had committed her crime.

  Her first memory of waking in the rain in the back of the wagon had been in one of the counties to the northeast with highland terrain, but the villages looked much the same. She hadn’t asked the names of the places, but she knew the first town was in one of the northeastern coastal counties. Some driving force made her keep going farther and farther away.

  Somewhere back there, she had left the darkest of tragedies. She had not dared to visit the scene where she had committed such a heinous act, nor did she want to provoke the grieving townspeople, who would never get over the slaughter of their children. They might not consider Utho’s punishment sufficient.…

  In her travels, as she had wandered over the rugged central mountain range, she was always listening for gossip, lest someone tell stories of a murderous Brava woman. So far she had kept ahead of the rumors, and Scrabbleton seemed the right sort of place for her, at least for a time. Elliel devoted herself to the work. Right now, that was all she needed.

  She chopped more rock, searched the rubble for glittering veins of quartz, the distinctive greenish brown of copper ore, or the sparkle of gold, but she saw only plain rock. She shoveled the debris into her bucket and raised the iron-tipped pick again.

  After each shift, she welcomed the ache of sore muscles. As a Brava, she assumed she had wielded a sword or her fiery ramer, but she took satisfaction from the ache of exertion in the mine, knowing it came from an honest day’s labor. And it did not involve killing children.

  Throughout the tunnels Elliel could hear the staccato sounds of nearby miners hacking at the rock, searching for valuable gems or ores. As a special prize, they might find rubies so dark and rich that according to legend they were the blood of Ossus hardened into jewels during his long, wounded sleep.

  As she worked in the flickering lantern light, Elliel could understand how miners might let their imaginations run away with them. In the inn, where weary workers drank the local ale, played games, and talked, she had heard them tell bone-chilling stories. Shauvon, the innkeeper, would roll his eyes as he bustled about the common room.

  Elliel had secured a small room for herself in the inn, and in the evenings she would relax at a table by herself. The miners glanced at her and turned away a little too quickly, talking in low voices, but she was used to it.

  When she asked mine boss Hallis not to repeat her tale, she had known the promise would not hold for long. By now the whole town knew her tragic story, her shame, and the meaning of the tattoo on her face. They would accept her eventually, or she would move on, as before. She felt no overt aggression or antipathy from them, though. They seemed to be softening, especially the miners she worked with.

  For now, she was not Elliel the disgraced Brava, she was just Elliel the digger. To these Scrabbleton miners, a long life and a great legacy meant having a comfortable home and children to carry on after they were gone. Elliel envied such simple goals, never expecting such a life for herself.…

  Hallis had spent the first day guiding her through the mines. He knew each tunnel, side shaft, and dead-end pocket even without carrying a map because he explored so often. The mine boss had spent a lot of time leading mine crews in his younger days, but due to stiffening muscles and aching joints, he could no longer do the strenuous work. But he still remembered those days.

  As they walked the tunnels, he explained the different types of rock, teaching her how to identify silver, iron, copper, tin, lead, even powdery yellow sulfur, which was useful for treating skin conditions and for making matches to light the lanterns. Mount Vada was a treasure trove.

  The mine boss lifted the lantern so he could study her expression. “I see that you’re overwhelmed. Don’t worry. You can just swing your pick where the other miners tell you. We haul the ore out in carts and sort it later.”

  “I can do that.” She gave him a thin smile. “And dragonblood rubies? How will I find them?”

  “Such gems are precious. They’ll find you, if you’re lucky enough.”

  During each shift, miners split up in the cramped tunnels, hewing the rock wherever there was room enough to swing a pick. Today Elliel accompanied miners named Klenner and Upwin, neither of whom had any objection to working near a woman, especially after watching her work. They joked, but not at Elliel’s expense, and she warmed to the two. She could hear both men in adjacent shafts, hammering away, shoveling the debris into buckets, which they dumped in the cart in the wider shaft.

  Elliel did not keep track of the time. The shift would be over when her lantern candle burned three-quarters of the way down, but meanwhile, she lost herself in the work. She felt the pick penetrate the stone, and a fine, sharp spray of debris stung her cheeks and forehead. The crumbling rock yielded with startling ease.

  Suddenly, hot red liquid gushed toward her as if from a severed artery, then sealed off. With Brava reflexes, she jerked to one side. The smoking crimson fluid hardened in the air and broke into crystalline droplets. Rubies pattered to the floor, each as large as her thumbnail. In wonder, Elliel bent to pick up the gems. They were still warm in her palm. “Klenner, Upwin! Come see this.”

  Since she spoke so rarely, the other two miners came running, amazed by the gems she held. “Bless my ancestors!” said Klenner. “That’s a rich haul. You’ll have a year’s bonus from Hallis.”

  Upwin ran back to the stone wall where Elliel had been digging. He kicked debris aside and held up his lantern, pressing his face to the rugged wall. “Stand back, there might be more.”

  Gathering the handful of rubies, Elliel let Upwin excavate the same place, widening the gouge, but he encountered only more rock, none of the hot fluid.

  “It was liquid when I struck,” she said, “like red water.”

  Klenner clapped her on the back. “That’s dragon’s blood, all right. You struck it, and now you’ve been blessed. There’ll be celebration in town tonight. This doesn’t happen often.”

  Just then, she felt a vibration in the mine walls and floor. A loud rumble thrummed through the mountain. The two miners recoiled in panic. “Better run! The tremors will get worse.”

  As the rumbling and shaking increased, the three backed out of the small tunnel and ran along the wide passageway. Rocks pattered down from the ceiling, threatening to bury them alive, but before they had taken a dozen steps, the vibrations faded, and the stone walls became still again. Elliel could hear only her heavy breathing, the pulse pounding in her ears. The other two miners flicked their eyes from side to side, and eventually relaxed.

  “It’s over,” Klenner said.

  “Just a little one,” said Upwin. He looked at her. “That
’s what happens when you dig deep into the Dragonspine. One of these days we’re going to poke Ossus in the wrong place.”

  Elliel placed little stock in the stories. “The dragon is just having nightmares of the ancient war that almost killed him.”

  “You know what’ll happen if Ossus awakens.” Klenner sounded serious. “The world will end!”

  “Then we’d better not wake him.” Elliel tucked the handful of fresh rubies into her pocket.

  15

  UTHO of the Reef summoned nine Bravas to a dark and secret meeting place in the Convera City lowtown. Their business was grim and it would mean the loss of one of their own, but after Onder’s cowardice at Mirrabay, the Bravas had no choice.

  Utho chose a small remembrance shrine on the Crickyeth River side of the lowtown. Unlike the gigantic remembrance shrine in the heart of the city, the wood-walled building was only the size of a shop, but it served as a place for the locals to record the names and brief legacies of their many fallen loved ones.

  After the old legacier locked the doors for the night, Utho knew that he and his elite Brava companions could meet there undisturbed. It had been a long time since they were forced to mete out such harsh justice for one of their own. Utho had done this to Elliel more than two years ago for entirely different reasons, but no one could doubt that Onder deserved this punishment.

  Two Bravas waited in nearby alley shadows, invisible in their dark garb. They emerged as Utho approached the closed shrine. He gave them a silent acknowledgment as he used the key and swung open the door to let them into the shrine, where they lit just enough candles to see. Their boots made the floorboards creak. Two more Bravas arrived, and the five of them cleared the table where patrons reviewed the names of their ancestors and read notations of the legacies they left behind.

  “Can you be sure Onder will come?” asked Klea, a muscular middle-aged woman who had dedicated her services to a lord in a county just south of the Confluence.