Spine of the Dragon

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Iluris knew her quiet hours were over, and she decided that if she had to have company, her chamberlain was better than a demanding priestlord who would keep trying to convince her to go to war. “Of course, Nerev.”

  Carrying his tablet, he climbed into the carriage, folded his long legs, and adjusted his red chamberlain’s robes. When he swung the enameled door shut, Iluris called through the open window, “Captani, let’s be on our way. I want to arrive while there is daylight.”

  The leader whistled from the front horse and the procession moved along. The carriage bounced and rattled on the well-traveled road. Far behind, Key Priestlord Klovus hurried back from the tall grasses, calling for them to wait. Iluris saw one of the last supply wagons pause so the stout priestlord could swing himself up.

  Sitting back in her cushions, she turned to Nerev. The chamberlain stroked his dark, pointed beard as he looked down at the names in deep concentration. He read them off, and Iluris pondered, then asked him to cross out three names. She would see who else they might find before she made up her mind.

  * * *

  Olbo’s town square had been cleared to make room for the empra’s wagons and carriages. Pavilions had been erected so she could meet with candidates who came to speak with her. At a long wooden table under the largest pavilion, she dined with the town leader, a sleepy-eyed man who was unaccustomed to so much activity. Klovus was seated far down the table so he could speak with the local priest and other important people of Dhabban.

  They were joined by the local ranchers with the largest herds and the greatest number of workers. One master shepherd, a man named Gren with a flock of ten thousand sheep, produced wagonloads of wool for the weaving houses in the Ishiki and Tarizah Districts.

  Gren sat beside Iluris, explaining his business. “It’s a vast enterprise, Excellency.” The rancher savored a bite of roasted lamb covered with honey and slivered almonds. “This is one of my sheep. My flock is perfect, down to every scrap of meat and every fiber of wool. Managing such an operation can’t be entirely different from the work of being an emprir.”

  The honeyed lamb melted in her mouth. “If the quality of this meal is a reflection of your ruling skills, then you should be considered for the job,” she said, half in jest. “But I warn you that ruling all thirteen Isharan districts, as well as managing a navy and a standing army to face the constant threat from the Commonwealth, all while maintaining peace so that our land can thrive, is different from managing a herd of sheep.”

  “Likely so, Excellency, but I can always learn.”

  She told Nerev to write the man’s name in his book.

  After the meal, an unusual form of entertainment began as the audience sat back and drank sweet mead. Driven by dogs, twelve bleating sheep were turned loose in the square. The empra’s hawk guards closed ranks, ready to defend her, but the town leader said, “Just watch, you will enjoy this.”

  Three strapping young men bounded in among the sheep, carrying loose coils of hemp rope. Each of them tackled a sheep, tied its thrashing legs together, then jumped up to snatch another one. Five were down and tied in less than a minute. The young men rounded up the rest of the sheep, assisted by the barking dogs, and soon all the sheep lay immobile in the square. The Olbo townspeople laughed and applauded.

  “A remarkable skill,” Iluris said.

  “Now, we shear them,” said the most muscular of the men, a giant who stood taller than most and had shoulders nearly as broad as a cart. With a razor-edged knife he slashed off a hunk of white wool, which he presented to Iluris with a grave bow. “The finest, purest wool you’ll ever see, Excellency.”

  She accepted the gift, felt the softness in her hands, pressed it against her cheek. The crowd laughed even louder as the giant picked up two of the tied sheep, one in each massive arm, and raised them over his head. “You see, I’m the best shepherd, the best shearer, and the strongest man in Dhabban.” He cracked a wide grin. “Maybe I should be the next emprir.”

  “That is certainly one qualification.” Iluris turned to Nerev. “You’d better write down the young man’s name.”

  Grinning, the giant let the sheep down, and the other young men finished shearing them to raucous cheers and rhythmic applause.

  * * *

  After leaving Dhabban, they arrived next at a border town on a small river in the Tarizah District. Citrus orchards lined the banks, and the people caught catfish from the river.

  Iluris was surprised when the townspeople had no candidates to offer for her consideration. Their leader, a square-chinned, no-nonsense woman, bowed, as if to gently deliver bad news. “We are good people here, Excellency, well fed, content, kind to our families. We are pleased you have come to visit us, but no one here is inclined to become the next emprir of the land.”

  Klovus came up to the town leader, puzzled. “Surely you have a local temple? Your godling protects you and keeps you safe.”

  “We have a temple on the bank, and our godling lives in the river. He is content, as are we.”

  “You pray and you sacrifice?” The priestlord sounded challenging. “You keep the godling strong, for such time as you may need him?”

  “If we need him, the godling will be there. We sense him. Last year, he protected us from a terrible storm that blew down many trees in the forest, yet none of our homes were damaged. Five years ago, a fire swept through the grass hills and could have wiped us out. We were ready to evacuate in our boats, but the fire worked its way around our town, and the godling snuffed it out. Yes, we know he is there.”

  Iluris looked at Klovus. “You see, Priestlord, that is exactly how godlings were meant to serve us. I must commend the Tarizah priestlord. He has done excellent work.”

  Klovus looked troubled. “Yes, he has. But the godlings should be kept as strong as possible, in case we face more dangerous enemies than rainstorms and grass fires.”

  The town leader placed a finger on her chin, still considering the empra’s original question. “We do have one person you should talk to, though. Wayman is a learned old man. Such a wise person might make an excellent leader. You could ask him?”

  Some townspeople took Iluris in a boat down the river, accompanied by Captani Vos, two hawk guards, Chamberlain Nerev, and Priestlord Klovus. When they arrived at a hermit’s shack on the bank with a small wooden dock extending from the front door, they called out his name. “Wayman!”

  The old man had long hair and a thick gray beard, well brushed. As if it were a complicated operation, he worked his way into a well-worn wooden chair at the end of the dock and rested his wrists on his knees as he watched them. “You are Empra Iluris.”

  “I’m told you are a wise man. I was hoping we could discuss Ishara.”

  “We can discuss anything you like.” When he smiled, his teeth were yellowed, but intact. She couldn’t guess his age. “I’ve read much over the years, and I have had many years to read. My home is filled with books, and loyal travelers bring me more books each week.”

  “How many books have you read, then?” asked Klovus.

  “One thousand, six hundred and thirty-two. I’ve kept track since I was a young man.” He laughed. “I can’t say they were all good books, though, and sometimes the information contradicts what is written in other books.” He tapped his fingernails on the arms of his chair. “What has the world come to if you can’t trust what you read in books? Astonishing! I guess I need to read more books.”

  “Do you remember what you read?” Iluris asked.

  “I remember every word. It’s a trick of my memory.” He tapped the side of his head. “Sometimes it’s a curse, though.” He looked up at her. “Think of your own life, Excellency. Are there not some things you wish to forget?”

  A flash of her father’s drawn face, his set jaw as he held her down and forced himself upon her … “Yes, many things. I am crossing all districts, seeing Ishara and meeting people to find a worthy successor.”

  “I read that in a letter a traveler bro
ught. I am surprised you reached Tarizah so quickly.”

  “We came to see you, Wayman,” said Chamberlain Nerev. “You are extremely wise and well read.”

  His dry laugh turned into a cough. “Oh, I have no interest in ruling a land. I have my dock, and the river, and the fish.” He let out a slow sigh. “And my books. I am already an emprir, but of a much smaller territory.”

  Iluris was charmed by the old man. “If you have so much knowledge, why don’t you want to be considered for the role? I might insist that Nerev write down your name in his book. You could be my advisor, if nothing else.”

  “He can write down my name if he wishes, but I will not accept the post, should you offer it to me.”

  Without getting up, Wayman reached down beside his chair for a long stick with a string and a hook tied to the end. “You do need a wise empra or emprir, but unfortunately, I am too wise.” He cackled once more. “Wise enough to know that I don’t want to be a ruler. And I am too old.” He found a second pole on the other side of his chair and offered it to her. “Even as empra, you have much to learn, don’t you? Why don’t you fish with me awhile?”

  “I’ve never done that,” she said.

  “A person’s life is not complete without fishing at least once. I insist.”

  Wayman gave Iluris brief instructions, and then they fished in companionable silence. A breeze rippled the surface of the river, which sparkled like thousands of gems in the sunlight. Iluris enjoyed herself for the next two hours, even though she still hadn’t found what she was looking for.

  35

  ADAN and Koll delivered the bedraggled teen to safety in the castle at Fellstaff. Tafira promised to help Pokle recover while the two men traveled to Convera Castle to see the konag. Adan dispatched a message to Bannriya, so Penda would know his new mission and that she had to watch over the kingdom’s business for a little while longer.

  The riverboat rolled down the Bluewater River out of Norterra. Adan stood on deck, leaning against a crate of pottery from the town of Broken Wheel, where he and his uncle had boarded. Kollanan had paid for their passage, but did not reveal their identities; a barge captain didn’t need to know that two kings were aboard his vessel. They wore warm clothes taken from the Fellstaff castle stores, woolen shirts and gray cloaks with no insignia.

  Out on the open deck, the young king of Suderra watched the shore roll by with deceptive grace: tall trees, a trio of deer grazing in the reeds, gray outcroppings of rock. Koll stood next to him, his shoulders bunched, as if he hoped to make the boat travel faster through sheer force of will.

  Both men were withdrawn and serious. Certainly, the wreths weren’t done with the harm they meant to do, especially if they intended to wake the dragon and bring about the end of the world. “We have to convince Conndur to send part of the army to Norterra,” Koll said. “With my report and yours, he can’t deny the threat. We know the frostwreths are building a fortress at Lake Bakal. How long until they move southward? What if they attack Fellstaff? Lasis is there with Tafira, but how can they defend the entire kingdom? I shouldn’t have left them alone.”

  “And I left Penda back home. What if the sandwreths come back?” Adan squared his shoulders. “I trust her to take care of what needs to be done—just as you trust Tafira and your Brava. But everything may hinge on us convincing the konag to help. We need to look my father in the eye and make him see the danger here.”

  Adan thought about everything he’d experienced in the last few weeks. He looked at his uncle and said, “A few months ago, I couldn’t have been happier. My wife told me that she’s carrying our first child. My kingdom is prosperous, the regents are gone, the people are happy with my rule. And now…” He felt the burn of tears in his eyes. “What sort of world will my child live in? Penda and I are bringing a son or daughter into what might be a terrible war, maybe the end of everything.”

  He looked at Koll watching the shadows gather on the river. “My grandsons have already left this world. At least your child has a chance.”

  * * *

  The riverboat pulled up to one of the main wharves in Convera, just past the first bridge. City guards monitored the river town, stopping brawls, watching out for petty thieves. As Adan and his uncle disembarked, bidding the barge crew goodbye, Koll waved to the nearest guards, shouting in a voice that had commanded armies. “Sergeant! Send a runner to the castle and tell the konag that King Kollanan and King Adan request an immediate audience.”

  The crew dropped their crates and stared at their fellow passengers. The captain put a hand on his hip and chuckled. “I thought I recognized you, Koll the Hammer! I saw you at a harvest festival in Fellstaff once. Imagine that, two kings on my boat!”

  Adan and Koll set off at a determined pace, ascending the streets toward the high bluff overlooking the Confluence. Guards and curious citizens gathered around them, but the two did not stop for small talk. One sergeant said to the armored guard next to him, “I wager they’re here to help with the war against Ishara. We’ve got to strike back.”

  Adan was startled. “What war with Ishara?”

  “The town of Mirrabay was wiped out a few weeks ago. The Isharans attacked us with a godling, and they’ll probably do it again.” The soldier chewed on his words and spat them out. “We’ve got to respond to the cowardly strike. It’ll be all-out war with Ishara.”

  “I’ve already been to a war over there, and I know what it’s like,” Koll said in a low growl. “We bring news of a different danger.”

  “And more urgent to the world,” Adan added.

  They worked their way past mule carts and children at play, barking dogs, women exchanging gossip, carpenters repairing homes, street workers fixing cobblestones. Adan had grown up here, and he savored the smells, colors, and sounds of home, which were so different from Bannriya. Despite the concern in his heart, he looked wistfully up at the castle. He had left here as a prince, and now he came back as a king—with news that would change the Commonwealth forever.

  In their nondescript travel clothes, Koll and Adan marched through the gates. Nobles and courtiers hurried about, rushing to prepare for the arrival of the two visiting kings. Adan briskly led the way to his father’s throne room.

  Inside, sunlight streamed through tall segmented-glass windows. Konag Conndur, wearing a fur-lined cape and a purple tunic, watched as servants hurried about to bring food and drink. Prince Mandan sat fidgeting at a table next to a stack of documents and ledgers, with the tall, steel-haired Brava next to him.

  When they hurried through the entryway, Conndur broke into a grin and stretched his arms wide, rising to his feet. “Starfall! Koll!” He strode toward them, but faltered after only a few steps. The bleak expression on his brother’s face and the clear worry on Adan’s made him hesitate. “I received your letters with the southern star charts.” He frowned. “And that odd story about the wreths.”

  “We’re not here about star charts, Father,” Adan said in a serious voice. “Yes, the wreths have returned after leaving us alone for two thousand years.”

  Kollanan added, “It’s worse than that, Conn. The wreths mean to destroy us.”

  “The wreths mean to destroy each other, and we just happen to be caught between them,” Adan said. “They mean to wake the dragon Ossus so they can kill him.”

  Utho stood beside his konag, as solid as an oak but with a deeply skeptical expression. “We read your letters, but your news is difficult to believe. How can the wreths wake a mythical dragon? Does it even exist? That ancient race has been gone for so many centuries. What kind of threat can they pose us now?”

  Koll’s nostrils flared. “Ask all the people they massacred at Lake Bakal, my daughter and her husband … my grandsons.”

  Adan ignored the Brava, since the konag was the one they needed to convince. “Neither of us is prone to fancy, Father. I’ve seen the wreths myself, both factions, and I believe they intend to start a war that will rival the ancient battles that nearly destroyed the
world. We have to decide our best course of action, without delay.”

  With a huff of impatience, Prince Mandan rose from his worktable, the last to formally greet them. “We are in a crisis here, too. It’s a good thing you came, since we were about to send a summons to Norterra and Suderra. The Commonwealth needs you. There’s a very real chance we’ll be at war with Ishara again, and that is our immediate priority. The konag calls for you to rouse your people, spread the word to your vassal lords so you can raise a great army across all counties. We need all fighters here in Osterra to defend against Ishara.”

  Unable to believe what he was hearing, Adan looked at his brother in alarm, then at his father. “You can’t mean this! Did you not hear what we just told you? The wreths have come back.”

  Conndur gave Mandan a chiding glance for how he had handled the discussion. “Understand what we’ve been going through here in Osterra. The Isharans provoked us, attacked us directly. Utho fought the godling himself.” He let out a long growling breath. “Of course I’ve heard the legend of the sleeping dragon, but no one has ever seen it. It’s just a myth. But here in Mirrabay, Isharans sent a godling to our shores. A godling!”

  Kollanan spoke gruffly. “No matter what the Isharans did, Conn, they are still just people. You have to reconsider.” He swallowed hard. “The wreths are worse than any harassing raids.”

  The konag lowered himself heavily into the large carved chair at the head of the document table. “What they’ve done is much more than harassment, Koll. The Isharans are our mortal enemies. The people are howling for blood—and with good reason. A town is devastated, more than a hundred innocent villagers slaughtered. Over the past year there have been five other skirmishes and countless missing ships. As konag, I can’t ignore that! The Isharans are clearly testing our strength and resolve. On the northern coast, Lord Cade reports seeing many suspicious ships in the fog. Watchman Osler has put Fulcor Island on high alert, ready for a sneak attack from the enemy navy.”