Spine of the Dragon

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Utho needed to make sure Mandan could fight just as well, if need be, but the prince clearly wasn’t interested. “I’ve gone out on the hunt every month. I felled a stag just last week.”

  “You wounded a stag, my prince. I made the kill shot.”

  It had been a messy business. The prince’s arrow had merely lodged in the deer’s ribs, and the beast went crashing and bleeding through the underbrush. Utho brought it down with a single arrow to the heart. He cut the stag’s throat so that the deed was done by the time Mandan caught up.

  “If the Isharans attack, you won’t be able to defeat them with painting,” Utho said.

  Mandan considered this. “I have you to defeat them, as well as the entire Commonwealth army. If the enemy invaded our shores, all three kingdoms would unite to drive away the enemy.”

  Utho wasn’t so sure, if Adan and Kollanan were off chasing wreths in the hills. “Wouldn’t you like to make a kill yourself?”

  “I suppose I could shoot an arrow right into the heart of Empra Iluris.” His lips formed a strange grimace. “Or maybe I’d shoot her in the ribs, so she would be a longer time dying. Like the stag.”

  Utho should have chided him for such ignoble sentiments, but considering they were talking about Isharans, the dark glitter in Mandan’s eyes seemed appropriate. “Yes, she would deserve that.”

  They went out into a walled practice yard on the bluff high above the river confluence. Utho brought a regular bow, a longbow, and a crossbow from the armory chambers, along with a basket of arrows and quarrels. Bales of old gray hay stood against the stone wall of the practice yard. To make the target more appealing, Utho had found an old yellow caftan such as the ones worn by Isharan priestlords, plundered from some foreign cargo ship the navy had seized.

  Utho hung the caftan on the bales and turned back to Mandan. “Use this as your target. Your aim will be better if you imagine some Isharan animal wearing it.”

  Mandan smiled. “Oh, I will.”

  He had the prince use the longbow first. When the young man had difficulty stringing it, Utho bent the flexible wood, pulled its curves down, and slipped the bowstring loop in place. “The longbow’s range is tremendous. That is its main advantage. When our archers face an Isharan army on the battlefield, longbowmen can shoot a rain of arrows from a safe distance, enough to decimate the enemy.”

  “How do you aim so far away?” Mandan plucked the bowstring as if it were a musical instrument.

  “If you have enough arrows, it is not so important to aim at an individual target. You just kill them all. Try it.”

  Mandan took an appropriate arrow from the basket, nocked it, and strained to draw the string back, but the pull was difficult. When he loosed the arrow, it whistled, flew wide, and clattered against the stone wall.

  Frowning but patient, Utho said, “Here in the practice yard, however, you do have to aim. Let me show you.”

  Mandan tried three more times, first determined, then flustered. Utho adjusted the young man’s finger placement, sighted down his arm, and showed him how to lead with the tip of the arrow. The third arrow struck the bales of hay, at least, which he considered a victory. Utho didn’t want to frustrate the prince further, so he gave him the regular bow, the one he used in hunting, and Mandan was far more competent with it. He shot half a dozen arrows, managing to pierce the caftan with two of them.

  Mandan looked up at his mentor. “Tell me the story about why you hate the Isharans so much. I want to hear it again.”

  Utho needed little encouragement. “You know the history, how they slaughtered our peaceful Brava colony of Valaera, used a godling to tear my people apart. Since then we have sworn a vengewar against them.”

  Mandan sounded impatient. “I know the history, Utho, but your anger always sounds so personal. I know they killed your family during the last war. Why weren’t you there to protect them?” The prince shot another arrow, grazing the old caftan again.

  Utho handed him the crossbow and four quarrels. “Because I had another assignment. I had to leave them at home in Mirrabay when Konag Cronin stationed me on Fulcor Island.”

  Mandan looked at the quarrels, holding the crossbow and weighing it. “Is that why you’re called Utho of the Reef?”

  “That is how I became Utho of the Reef.” His voice grew quiet as he told his story. “Emprir Daka wanted to take back the island, so he dispatched a trio of the Isharan navy’s most powerful warships, which were far superior to our patrol ships stationed at the island. The Isharan warships anchored out past the reefs, well beyond the range of even our ballistas or catapults from the walls. From there, they blockaded the waters, drove away supply vessels. We couldn’t reach the enemy ships, and all they had to do was wait for us to starve.

  “We were trapped for weeks. We drank water from the cisterns, ate the last of our old stores.” He set his jaw. “We were down to nothing, with no alternative but to surrender, but I knew we had to break the hold, somehow.”

  Mandan nocked one of the quarrels in his crossbow, wound the string tight, and set the latch. “What did you do?”

  Utho looked out over the wall of the practice field. “I destroyed the warships, all by myself. From the reef.”

  “Utho of the Reef…” The prince smiled. “How did you do it?”

  “The Isharan ships were anchored out of range, but when the tide went out, the rugged, slippery rocks of the reefs were exposed above the water. For only one hour each day, the reefs became a treacherous walkway.

  “On a dark and moonless night, I climbed down the cliff with a longbow—like the one you were just using—and a basket of pitch arrows. I reached the waterline and picked my way over the reefs toward the sea. I was nearly swept away by waves sloshing across the rocks, but I didn’t dare fail. In the dark, I kept walking out across the water until I was far from the island … and within range of the anchored enemy warships.

  “They thought they were safely out of reach. The Isharans couldn’t see me, didn’t expect me. But I found the perfect position on a large outcropping of coral. I set my basket down, strung the longbow, ignited the first pitch arrow with a spark of magic. As the tip burst into flame, I drew back the string and let the arrow fly. My aim was true, and my fire arrow hit the sails of the nearest Isharan ship.

  “I lit and shot all fifteen arrows, one by one, and all fifteen of them struck home. The flames ignited the enemy sails. Fire rocketed up their masts and along the decks. Their men cried out in alarm. They had no idea how they had been attacked, for no one should have been able to approach from that direction.

  “I enjoyed my victory for only a minute, though, since the tide was coming back in. Water already covered part of the reef walkway, so I left the basket and bow behind and just ran. My feet splashed in tide pools, and waves nearly swept me off the rocks. I lost my balance and tumbled into the sea, but I swam back, pulling myself up onto the coral, and waded along until I made it back to the garrison.

  “Behind me, the enemy vessels were burning fast, and I heard the screams of roasting men. All three Isharan siege ships became great funeral pyres.” He smiled as he spoke.

  “I was exhausted and battered, but we had won. The Isharan navy was defeated, and our warships could break the blockade and attack the other patrolling vessels. It was a great victory, and we celebrated. The garrison was saved.” He stared off into the distance. “I took a ship back home to Osterra so I could tell Konag Cronin what I had done, that Fulcor Island was still safe.”

  Utho paused, feeling sick. He fell silent for so long that Mandan looked at him with eager curiosity. Though a Brava rarely showed emotion, Utho’s voice cracked. “But while I was stationed at Fulcor Island, an Isharan raid wiped out the town of Mirrabay, where my family lived. Slaughtered them all—Mareka, our daughters, all dead … while I was out on the reef saving the garrison instead of my family.”

  The prince stared, flushed with anger and disgust.

  Utho snapped at him, “Don’t just fumble
with that crossbow! Shoot! What if we were under attack?”

  Startled, Mandan lifted the crossbow, pulled the trigger, and launched his first quarrel. It struck the caftan below the belt, making what would have been a terrible wound in the lower abdomen. He wound the string, loaded, and fired the other three quarrels. Utho’s story had sharpened Mandan’s intensity, and all of the deadly bolts struck home.

  “Good, my prince,” said Utho. “Be ready to do the same if ever you see a real Isharan.”

  46

  WHEN her procession finally rolled back to Serepol, Iluris let out a happy sigh and gazed out the window of her carriage. “One’s home city is always the most beautiful place in the world.”

  “You haven’t seen some of the places I’ve lived.” Cemi rode next to her in the carriage, drinking in details. After the scamp had been cleaned up and given fresh clothes, Iluris invited her to accompany the procession to the next district, much to the alarm of the hawk guards, Chamberlain Nerev, and Priestlord Klovus. Cemi had no family, no ties, nothing to keep her in Prirari, and the empra enjoyed her unusual perspective and insights. As they traveled together, the young girl’s interest in the world around her never flagged.

  At the head of the procession entering Serepol, Captani Vos cleared the way through crowds that gathered to watch the empra return. Cemi peered out the open window on the other side of the carriage, absorbing the capital city. “That giant building! Is that the palace?”

  Iluris chuckled. “That’s just a warehouse, child. The palace is much larger.”

  Cemi looked at her skeptically, sure she was being teased. “Truth?”

  “The empra would never lie.”

  “You taught me better than that!” The scamp laughed, then quoted, “Politics, leadership, negotiation, they all involve shades of the truth. Only people who pray to godlings in the temples believe in absolute answers to their questions.”

  The words warmed Iluris’s heart. “Good, you were listening. I’m going to include you among my advisors. Your insights are often sharper than theirs.”

  The girl leaned back in the rocking carriage. “It’s because I’ve lived a real life, instead of a pampered one.”

  Instead of her street rags, Cemi now wore a lovely green blouse embroidered with gold and silver, inlaid with cabochon jewels. Scarves wrapped around her neck and covered her short brown hair. She looked beautiful, clean, and completely uncomfortable.

  The empra said, “There are many advantages to a pampered life. Your mind has more freedom to think about important things if you aren’t worried about catching rats or running from thieves.”

  “I won’t argue with that.” Cemi tugged her silk sleeve, plucked at the jewels glued onto the fabric. “But I’d rather spend these gems than wear them. What is the point of showing off and looking so pretty?”

  Iluris smiled. “A girl your age has reasons to be pretty.”

  “They aren’t always good reasons.”

  As the procession traveled across the remaining districts, Iluris had spent hours in the carriage teaching her new ward the history of Ishara, the priestlords and each district’s godlings. She described the long-standing conflict with the Commonwealth and the constant depredations of the unruly Hethrren clans in the wild lands south of Tamburdin District.

  Everything was a revelation to the scamp, who had survived on the streets without formal schooling, although years ago a kindly old woman had taught her how to read words and sound out names. Iluris assigned Chamberlain Nerev to help Cemi with her reading during parts of the long ride.

  Now the girl kept watching everything around her as the carriage rolled past Serepol warehouses, blacksmith shops, lumberyards, large kilns that served potters’ street. Stonemasons broke giant blocks of marble into smaller slabs. Farmers drove mule wagons loaded with sacks of grain, baskets of fresh greens, bushels of apples.

  One farmer darted in among the hawk guards and reached the side of her carriage. Shouting, the guards drew their swords and closed in around him, but the farmer was no assassin. At the carriage window, he extended a pale green melon. “For you, Excellency. You’ve never tasted a sweeter one! My best.”

  She accepted the melon just as Captani Vos seized the man by the arms, pulling him away from the carriage. Seeing the melon, Cemi’s eyes lit up. “These are delicious and rare—I stole one once! They’re called sunset melons. He meant no offense.”

  Accepting the girl’s assertion, Iluris called out to her dedicated guards, “Release him and give him my thanks. But if this melon is so precious, we have to buy it. Give him a gold coin, Vos.”

  The captani stepped back, touched his breastplate in surprise. “A gold coin, Mother? For a melon?”

  “For this melon. It is worth the cost.”

  The farmer beamed and bowed. As instructed, Vos gave the man a coin, and he danced away with a story to tell his fellows for years to come. Iluris watched him go, recalling her earlier thoughts that she had a sort of strength and protection from the people’s faith in her, much as the godlings drew power from sacrifices and faith. She wondered what the key priestlord would think of that.

  After the procession regrouped from the disruption, the captani approached the carriage window. “I apologize for letting the man get so close, Mother. He could have harmed you.”

  Iluris pursed her lips. “Captani, please give me your dagger.”

  Vos drew his knife. “To defend yourself? We would never let you be in that much danger! We would all die before—”

  “I require your knife to cut open this sunset melon. I’m curious to see how it tastes.”

  As the carriage rolled on, she and the girl spread a cloth over their laps, and Cemi sliced through the hard rind to expose a juicy orange interior with little black seeds. The flesh was musky and sweet, and it melted in Iluris’s mouth. Cemi carved out a chunk for herself, ignoring the juice that dripped on her fine clothes.

  “This is delicious.” Iluris dabbed sweet juice from the corner of her mouth. “See, dear girl, you can teach me things, too.”

  “Not as much as you’ve taught me, and I’m very grateful.” Cemi clearly meant it.

  “When you ask questions, you force me to formulate an answer, and as empra, I’m supposed to have the answers.”

  “Don’t the priestlords claim to have answers?” Cemi wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her dress. “Isn’t that why they keep the godlings, to protect us all?”

  “Priestlords think they have answers.” Iluris’s voice grew quieter as the carriage rattled on. “In truth, no one has all the answers.”

  Finally, the procession passed through the heart of the capital city. The priests came out in their colorful caftans, and Klovus rode in the lead, waving as if he were in charge now. As they rolled past the enormous foundations of the Magnifica temple, Cemi stared. “Is the size of the temple why the Serepol godling will be the strongest godling in the world?”

  “The construction won’t be finished for a long time yet. Our godling is powerful already, but once that temple is completed, it would become a thousand times stronger. Who knows what it might do with all that power?”

  Cemi stared. “With a protector like that, Ishara would be invincible.”

  “And what if godlings have ambitions of their own? Or the priestlords?” Iluris felt a knot in her stomach.

  The rest of the arrival day was a blur of parades and celebrations, receptions, cheering crowds. Iluris endured it all, smiling to her people as the beloved empra. Overwhelmed, Cemi curled up and fell asleep in the carriage before they reached the palace. When the scamp woke up, she stared at the tall towers, fluted rooftops, colorful tiles, stained-glass windows. Cemi poked her head out of the carriage. “Don’t tell me that’s another warehouse.”

  Iluris chuckled. “No, this truly is the palace. As I said, nothing is more beautiful than home.”

  The girl remained silent for a long moment before asking quietly, “And that’s going to be my home now?”

>   “So long as you behave,” Iluris teased. “I will keep you around.”

  That night, Iluris asked the chefs to make a small meal to be served in her quiet tower chambers, and of course they delivered an extravagant feast, much of which would go to waste. After spending time in Cemi’s company, she decided to make sure the unwanted food was distributed to beggars from now on.

  The girl changed out of traveling clothes into comfortable silks and slippers. She sat on a padded chair at the low table, tucking her feet beneath her legs as she ate.

  Iluris had brought Chamberlain Nerev’s ledger listing all the names under consideration to be the next leader, with many of the candidates crossed out, no longer in contention. “Let’s talk about these.”

  Cemi had already reviewed the possibilities on the journey, as Iluris suggested, and she kept her eyes open. “Now that you’ve taught me so much, I see how important it is that we really find the best person to be your successor.” She sniffed. “I always thought the empra was just some fancy lady who had banquets and parades but didn’t really do anything.”

  Iluris lifted her chin. “I work harder than that!”

  “When my most important concern was to steal an apple to fill my belly, I didn’t think about the subtleties of government.” Cemi turned a page, scanned the numerous names and brief notations by each one. “I want to help you find the right person.”

  Iluris was pleased that Cemi’s reading skills had improved enough for her to decipher the chamberlain’s scrawled writing. Some of his letters were jumpy and jagged because he wrote on his lap as the carriage rattled along the roads.

  Fifteen years old, Iluris thought, trying to remember when she herself was so young. Cemi had lived a difficult life, fighting every day, but young Iluris had suffered as well under her abusive father. Even a pampered life wasn’t always what it seemed.

  “I thought you wanted to be the next empra,” Iluris teased. “Isn’t that why you tried to break into my rooms in the governor’s mansion?”