Spine of the Dragon

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Townspeople had gathered for the morning, still stunned after the disaster from the previous day. Shauvon’s wife brought out hot tea and fresh baked bread to serve them all. Mainly, the people had come together for discussion and shared grief. Mine boss Hallis was there, already planning the day’s recovery efforts. There were still many injuries, but everyone had been accounted for. In all, nine had been killed in the tunnel collapses, and four of the bodies were irretrievable, including Jandre’s. In a hoarse voice, Hallis proclaimed, “They are one with the mountain.” He said there would be three days of mourning before he would allow anyone back into the mines.

  The gathered people looked up with questions and surprise when Elliel brought Thon in among them.

  “Where did he come from?” asked Hallis.

  “What is he?” asked another miner.

  “He’s a wreth, I think,” Elliel said, “from ages ago. I found him in the mine. He was buried deep inside the mountain.”

  “No one has ever seen a wreth.” Hallis took a closer look.

  “My name is Thon. I cannot tell you why I am here … only that Elliel rescued me.” He looked around the room, then fixed his gaze on the door. “I would like to go outside and breathe fresh air, feel the sunlight. It has been a … very long time.”

  Elliel walked him through the crowded room as people stared after them. The wreth stranger felt solid next to her, his muscles smooth and hard. Oddly, he seemed to be supporting her as much as she supported him.

  Once outside, Thon turned his face to the sky, blinking into the clear blue distance. “What a marvelous world.”

  Elliel looked at his perfect features that were marred only by the tattoo rune. “I wish you could remember.”

  “Now that I’ve awakened, I have to discover the rest of my history.” He turned to look at her. “You say that I am a wreth? And that the wreths are long gone? Maybe I can find them again.”

  “Is that wise, after what they did to you?”

  “I do not know what they did to me, or whether or not I deserved it.”

  They heard a distant rumble, and the ground shuddered again, another tremor. Gasps of dismay echoed from inside the inn, but the quake abated quickly.

  The wreth man stared at curling gray smoke that rose from the upper slopes of Mount Vada. He said, “I may not have much time.”

  39

  ADAN and his uncle stayed at Convera Castle, repeating their stories about the wreths to the konag’s advisors and his council of vassal lords. Adan feared that their conversations were going around in circles.

  After so many fruitless discussions, a frustrated Koll had dragged his brother into a private chamber and slammed the door. Even through the heavy wooden barrier, Adan and everyone else in the castle had heard them shouting. Koll had pounded his big fist on a table, like his legendary war hammer. Their argument raged for nearly an hour before Kollanan threw open the door again and stalked off to his guest chambers, where he locked himself in for the night.

  The next morning, a more conciliatory konag met with the two of them, while Utho stood at his side, like a stony bodyguard. “I believe your story,” Conndur said. “Of course I do. These wreths are a matter of great concern, and I especially acknowledge the deep pain of your loss, Koll. Your poor daughter and her family…”

  With little sympathy in his voice, Utho said, “Many of us have lost families to brutal enemies. Lake Bakal was a tragedy, as was Mirrabay, and we know the Isharans will attack again.”

  The konag nodded. “They struck a town not far from this capital. Before that, we had news of numerous missing fishing boats, almost certainly attacked and sunk by the Isharans. I can’t send the Commonwealth armies away to Norterra to see what the frostwreths might do, when our own coast is so clearly at risk. I have to be prepared for an all-out war, especially if we are now facing godlings.…” He clasped his brother’s shoulder. “I cannot squander my army on the other side of the land and leave Osterra vulnerable. I must leave you to build your own defenses, Koll. The Norterran people are strong. I know you can keep them safe.” He turned to Adan. “The sandwreths seem more cooperative, at least from Queen Voo’s words. If they should return to Bannriya, tell them that I would send an emissary to speak with them. I would even come to Suderra myself at some point, if we manage to keep the Isharans at bay.”

  “Father, if the Commonwealth is caught in the middle of a war between wreth factions,” Adan said in a quiet voice, “the Isharan attacks will look like a courtyard brawl by comparison.”

  Conn’s face sagged. “Ancestors’ blood, I hope you are wrong.” He and his Brava returned to the council chambers.

  * * *

  Later, standing by himself in the rear courtyard gardens, Adan considered the tall hedge maze, which held so many boyhood memories. He no longer held out hope that he could change his father’s mind. The Commonwealth army would not be coming to face the wreths. A long-vanished race freezing an entire town and warning of a war to end the world … maybe it didn’t sound as real and immediate a threat as the Isharans were.

  Grumbling in frustration, he marched into the hedge maze, which rose well above his head. The piney scent of junipers and the twitter of birds carried him back to his childhood days spent here in the castle.

  He followed the gravel path to the first branching. The maze had been a place of great mystery when he was a boy, and he had spent countless hours exploring, hiding. Sometimes late at night and in complete darkness, he would wander the maze himself, memorizing every twist and turn.

  An unexpected voice interrupted his thoughts. “Careful you don’t get lost, Brother. I doubt you still remember your way.” Adan was surprised to see Mandan there in a quiet corner of the maze, his brown hair over his ears, the gold circlet resting on his brow. He wore a red jacket with gold stitching, large buttons, and wide cuffs that would have made eating a meal impossible. “You’ve been gone from Convera a long time.”

  Utho stepped up behind the prince like a watchdog, his flat face showing no expression. “I’m certain he remembers, my prince. You both spent enough time here.”

  “Shall we run through the maze together?” Adan asked in a challenging tone. “I used to beat you every time.”

  “You would occasionally win.” Mandan’s lips quirked in a thin smile. “But I pelted you enough times with rocks from hiding places.”

  Adan brushed the green fabric of his jerkin. “Yes, it was very un-kingly behavior.” The prince sniffed, but he was clearly amused by what he had done.

  Adan thought back to when they would hide in the elaborate maze, trying to reach the apple tree at the middle, like a prize. Mandan had craftily made holes in the hedges so he could spy on him and throw rocks, sometimes hard enough to draw blood. Adan still had a faint white scar on his left temple from one sharp-edged rock.

  He learned later that Utho had taught Prince Mandan how to prepare an ambush and to lie in wait. “It was part of his training,” the Brava responded when an indignant and bleeding Adan accused him. “Any military man must know strategy, secrecy, and surprise, and Mandan is going to be konag.”

  Finding it unfair, Adan wanted to run to his father to insist that Mandan be punished, but the young prince realized that wasn’t very kingly behavior either. Instead, Adan had approached Utho in private, careful to act businesslike. “I’m a prince, too, and I need to understand the same sort of tactics. Kollanan and Conndur went off to fight together in the last Isharan war. What if the same situation occurs?”

  The Brava had nodded solemnly. The normally expressionless man had shown a faint smile as thoughts began to click into place. “I agree, the prince needs to understand both sides of a surprise.”

  Adan planned his revenge—not meaning to escalate the feud or inflict pain on his brother, but to make an impression, to put them on even footing. Late at night, choosing a primary intersection in the hedge maze, Adan dug a deep hole and filled it with foul-smelling nightsoil collected from the garderobes. W
hen the pit was full, he covered the surface with ashes and sprinkled gravel. It wasn’t perfect, but at a quick glance, the path looked unchanged.

  The following day, Adan taunted his brother and lured him into the maze. Mandan chased him, running headlong. Adan let the prince come close, and when he reached the proper intersection, Adan jumped over the hidden pit and kept running. Mandan ran after him, hot on the chase. Without suspecting a thing, he stepped in the soft gravel and sank in the stinking muck up to his waist. As Mandan yelped as if he were being murdered, he slid deeper into the hole and splashed shit all over himself.

  Recalling the scene now, Adan couldn’t stop smiling. “You still smell it a little, don’t you?”

  Mandan scowled, knowing exactly what his brother meant. “Your trap was in a different part of the maze, not here.”

  Chuckling, Adan clapped his brother on the shoulder. “All in good fun, just two boys playing, like when you struck me with rocks.”

  Mandan laughed as well, but his humor seemed forced, and Adan realized that the sting still hadn’t gone away. “It’s in the past,” he said in a serious voice. “We have more important things to worry about. As allies.” Adan hoped his brother’s expression would soften.

  Mandan turned away. “We should be allies. Ishara is attacking us, killing our villagers, seizing our boats. And now you come with a story about wreths, trying to distract us from the real enemy.”

  “There’s no rule that says only one problem will occur at a time.” Adan extended his hand. “We are still brothers.”

  Mandan hesitated, then accepted the grip. “Of course we are.”

  * * *

  That night, seeing that the dark sky was free of clouds, Adan made his way up to the gazing deck. He wasn’t surprised to find his father already there under the stars. Konag Conndur sat with a ledger open on a small table beside him so he could mark observations. But the new page remained blank.

  Adan took his familiar place on the adjacent bench, and the two men gazed at the Sword, the Stag, the Castle, all the patterns so familiar from his childhood days. Adan knew he couldn’t beg his father to change his mind, couldn’t pressure the konag to send troops to stand against the wreths. Right now they were just together, father and son, sharing the same interest.

  He was surprised to see tears sparkling in his father’s gray eyes. “Oh, Adan,” he said, “what if all the stars fall?”

  40

  EMPRA Iluris had ruled for more than thirty years, but over the past few weeks she realized how little she’d actually seen of the real Ishara. Her search for a successor had taken her to nine of the thirteen districts so far, and her mind was filled with a breadth of cultures, stunning landscapes, and fascinating people. Iluris wished she had done this a long time ago. Now the land was in her heart.

  By the time they reached the Prirari District, Chamberlain Nerev had already filled a volume with candidate names, meticulous notations of their abilities, and his unbiased impressions. He asked the empra to review his recommendations, but she steadfastly shook her head. “I’ll keep my mind open until we are finished.” The lanky man stood there forlorn, holding his books, and she tried to reassure him. “Since I’m not imminently dying, we can take time to make our choice.”

  Reaching the Prirari capital, the empra’s entourage were given quarters in buildings around the main temple square, while she herself would occupy the top floor of the governor’s four-story administrative mansion. The comfortable quarters would be a sharp contrast to their previous stop in a nomadic antelope-herding town on the edge of Tamburdin District.

  Klovus joined her when it was time to meet the Prirari priestlord. He looked ragged from the constant traveling. With the strange variety of foods, the changes in weather, and the relentless pace, he had lost several pounds, and his caftan now hung more loosely on him.

  “You’re looking fitter than usual, Priestlord,” Iluris remarked. “You’ll be a slim and muscular man before we return home.”

  “I may be skeletal by then with this indigestion.” Trudging forward, he accompanied the empra toward the whitewashed towers of the temple. “I will introduce you to the Prirari priestlord. Erical is a good man and handsome, with a calm disposition, never married. You will like him, Excellency.”

  “And for what purpose will I like him? As a potential husband?”

  Klovus fiddled with his fingers. “I’m trying to be serious, Excellency. Erical would make a fine ruler, if you’d consider him.”

  “Does he even want the position?” She already knew what Klovus wanted.

  “Every priestlord wants what is best for Ishara, and a strong ruler is what is best for our land.”

  “A prosperous Ishara is best for all.” She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. “Let’s see what this man has to say for himself.”

  They reached the graceful white temple. Four soaring towers stretched like whitewashed arms toward the sky, enclosing a large tiled dome over the main worship area. At the arched entryway, the quiet priestlord waited for them in a gray caftan trimmed with blue. He had close-cropped brown hair, gentle eyes, and a large frame, although he stooped his shoulders as if to minimize his size.

  He bowed. “Our temple awaits you, Excellency. I’ve whispered to the godling at great length, and I believe she will be pleased to meet you.” Almost as an afterthought, Erical acknowledged Klovus as well. “It’s far more modest than the home of the great godling in Serepol, but the temple is well cared for and our godling is content.”

  Iluris extended her hand to accept his polite greeting. She’d seen so much ambition, even desperation from some of the other priestlords that she appreciated the necessary reminder that not all of them were the same.

  The large worship chamber echoed with their footsteps and whispers. Filtered sunshine streamed through triangular blue skylights in the dome overhead. Other priestlords had created a spectacle for her visit, with crowds of worshippers and great sacrifices just to impress her. In contrast, the Prirari priestlord kept his temple quiet and private.

  When she asked Erical, he said, “I wanted your visit to Prirari to be more introspective, Excellency. We’re a quiet people, and we prize the beauty of nature. We have lakes and rivers, and our eastern hills are covered with orchards. I hope you can stay long enough to sample our cheeses and apple wines.”

  “I look forward to it, Priestlord,” she said. “For now, show me your godling.”

  The expansive worship area under the dome was empty except for flower-filled urns around the perimeter. On the back wall, a shimmering silver smear rippled and stirred, like water reflecting gray clouds. Most major Isharan temples had a spelldoor that contained the godling, holding it in some other void until it was summoned.

  When the visitors approached, the glowing spelldoor brightened, as if the powerful presence could sense them. Iluris knew they would only see the godling directly if it were unleashed to defend the city, and that would not happen today. Here, they had a more intimate audience.

  “She is calm now, because our district is happy and prosperous,” Erical said. Mounted on the stone wall beside the shimmering spelldoor was a rectangular sheet of obsidian no more than a foot on a side. It looked oily and slick, and so much deeper than black that the word had no meaning.

  The priestlord’s eyes sparkled, and he spoke to Iluris privately, as if her entourage did not exist. “Would you like to look through the shadowglass window? We can watch the godling directly in her own world.”

  She was curious. “A shadowglass window?”

  Klovus stepped forward to interject. “It is a special material harvested from ancient wreth battlefields in the old world. Shadowglass has rare properties that allow us to view godlings in their own place outside of time.”

  A window for priestlords to view godlings? Standing close to him, Iluris peered through the black glass. She heard Erical’s breathing quicken and could smell the heat of his skin. He seemed full of wonder, as if he were seeing
his own godling for the first time. As her eyes focused on the gleaming dark surface, she discerned an indescribable knot of colors and energy, ripples whirling like the feathers of a bird struck by lightning, with a singular eye floating in the center. It was as if someone had gathered and folded the auroras that appeared in the night sky and tucked them behind the black glass.

  When the strange eye turned to look at her, a chill went down the empra’s spine, but she sensed no threat, no anger, just benevolence and immense power generated by the unwavering faith of the Prirari people. Fascinated, she gave Priestlord Erical a smile.

  Klovus interrupted their pleasant moment, pushing close. He peered into the shadowglass and nodded. “Quite a lovely godling! I understand she can be roused to anger when necessary? Under dire circumstances?”

  “It rarely becomes necessary,” said Erical.

  Raising his eyebrows, Klovus turned to the empra. “As I mentioned before, perhaps you should consider Erical as a possible successor? He has the temperament for it, and he’s quite wise.”

  Occupied with his own thoughts, Erical concentrated on the shadowglass window, moving his lips as if speaking with the enclosed deity.

  “Is that what you wish, Priestlord?” Iluris asked. “Would you like to become the next emprir?”

  Erical frowned back at her as if the idea had never occurred to him. “Why, no, Excellency. I could never leave this.” He touched the shadowglass.

  She wasn’t surprised.

  * * *

  Having met so many people and traveled so long, Empra Iluris asked to dine alone that night in her private rooms on the fourth floor of the governor’s mansion. There was already a large day festival planned for the following morning. With a gentle smile, she told the disappointed governor, “I want to contemplate all that I’ve seen in lovely Prirari.” Klovus volunteered to take her place at the private evening banquet, and Iluris was happy to allow him the honor. For now she craved solitude.