Spine of the Dragon

by Kevin J. Anderson

  The expedition rode double file along the river road, and the slosh of clogged water and the groan of drifting trees drowned out the jingle of the tack and armor. Standard-bearers trotted ahead, holding up pennants, one showing the open hand of the Commonwealth, one showing the rising sun of Osterra. The pack wagons came behind, rattling over the wide dirt road. Normally, the Crickyeth River would have been dotted with cargo boats, flat barges, and fishermen, but the debris-filled current was too treacherous.

  At sunset, the outriding scouts found a large meadow where the large party could make camp. In an efficient operation, the soldiers removed tents from the supply wagons, while others built campfires and set about cooking beans mixed with onions and sausages in large cauldrons. The gray ash in the air continued its eerie fall, but the clouds overhead took on a different character. Conn sniffed, and he could smell rain even through the burnt odor. A good downpour would knock some of the ash out of the air, but it would also create a terrible mess.

  Near one of the campfires, Mandan sat on a fabric chair that had been set up for him, while Conndur contented himself with a wooden stump for a seat. They ate their simple camp meal, the same food as the soldiers had, while the prince brushed at biting insects, tugged at his chafing clothes. Utho was stoic as he faced the road that led toward the Dragonspine.

  As the soldiers finished setting up the tents, a small group of refugees came down the road, surprised to see the royal banners. They all looked frightened and desperate, with hurriedly gathered belongings lashed on their backs. They led two goats, a spindly cow, and a barking dog. Covered with ash, the man looked like a ghost. “Thousands of trees flattened, Sire. A tree fell on our horse and killed her. Closer to Mount Vada, some people stayed to pick up the pieces, but we can’t live there anymore.”

  “Has anyone seen the dragon?” Mandan asked. “Did Ossus really come out of the mountain?”

  The refugees looked at one another, sharing fears. “We heard the rumbling, saw the fire and smoke … but not the dragon himself.”

  “A lot more refugees are on the road behind us,” said the man’s wife. “We’re heading to Convera, where it might be safe. Do you think we’ll find shelter there?”

  If so many refugees poured in from the mountains, Conndur wondered how his city could possibly help them all. “Ancestors’ blood,” he muttered. He made sure the people had some bean stew before they continued down the road as the first sprinkles of rain began to patter down. The prince looked uneasy, especially when low thunder rumbled through the clouds overhead, and he went to huddle in his own small tent.

  Weary in his mind and heart, Conn took his blanket and tried to sleep. The downpour soaked the tent fabric and leaked through the stitched seams all through the night. The soldiers tried to keep dry in their tents. Some attempted to keep the campfires burning, but it was no use.

  As he lay back with his eyes open, Conn recalled the nights he had spent sleeping on the battlefield in a strange land. He and Koll had led skirmishes even when they were wet and miserable, and many of his soldiers had developed skin sores from soggy clothes or cracked boots. None of it had felt very glorious, despite the legacies they were each trying to build.…

  The next morning, Mandan looked bedraggled as he emerged from the tent into the cold misty dawn. Utho found dry blankets at the bottom of the supply wagons and wrapped the prince to keep him warm while they waited for breakfast. The camp cooks managed to light the wet wood and boil water for morning tea.

  Conn gave his son credit for not complaining. Mandan brought out a cloth-wrapped volume from his tent. “Last night, I traced our path in my books so I could see how far we’d come on the first day, but then water got on the pages and damaged the maps.”

  Conn took a seat on the wet stump next to him. “I’m afraid the world is damaged, too, my son.”

  The procession rode out, passing more refugees. As they approached the mountains, ash continued to fall. At night when Conndur stretched out to sleep in his tent, he could feel a deep rumbling beneath the ground, like Ossus growling. Conn thought of the great dragon buried in the mountains, and the warnings Adan and Koll had brought about the wreths. What if the legends were true after all? It had been so easy to assume the Isharans were the greater threat, the more obvious threat.

  As the expedition reached the mining region, they came upon an empty town, its buildings burned and collapsed, the streets choked with debris. Dead oxen were sprawled in the town square, mouths open, tongues caked with gray powder. Chickens ran loose, but nothing else moved in the town.

  Forest fires burned along the rugged ridges to the north. The road became less passable, because countless trees had been knocked flat by a tremendous blast. Streams were dammed up in bubbling, stinking pools with yellow sulfur scum on top of the water. Thermal vents hissed between boulders.

  Conn could not dispute what he saw with his own eyes. The stirring dragon had shaken the world. Even Utho was struck dumb at the unexpected sight.

  The procession moved ahead, covered with an ominous gloom. The scouts worked their way forward through the avalanche debris and fallen trees. The standard-bearers no longer bothered to carry their flags, which had drooped, stiff with ash. The troops simply rode with their heads down, trying to keep moving.

  The rain had settled out some of the ash, clearing the sky so they could see glimpses of the mountain peaks. Mount Vada rose ahead of them, but it looked as if its entire summit and part of the side had been ripped away by a malicious hand, leaving a raw wound that spewed smoke and ash. Red rivers of fire ran like blood down the steep slopes.

  Sitting in his saddle, Mandan peered all around him, frightened. He had taken out his book of maps and opened the water-stained pages to where he diligently marked the progress of the expedition. Now he just stared at the drawn lines, then studied the terrain, unable to reconcile what was marked on the maps with what he observed. Conndur could see the prince struggling for words.

  Mandan closed the book, shuddered, and then hurled it to the side of the road among the debris. “I know the maps by heart. I knew the roads, the towns, the mountains. I studied them, because that’s what the tutors told me to do!” His voice was choked with all the ash he had inhaled. His lips were chapped, his eyes shadowed. “But all those dots and words—those were real people, real places, and real lives!”

  “Yes, my son. They all are,” Conndur said. “And as konag, they are all yours. You have to save them, keep them safe.”

  “But how?” Mandan cried.

  “Any way we can, my prince,” Utho said. “That is the question every konag must ask.”

  Riding ahead, they finally came to what was left of a mining settlement called Scrabbleton.

  56

  COMING home at last made Kollanan’s heart glad. The world might be in danger and the future full of dark questions, but Fellstaff would welcome him. Tafira was there, his people were there, and that counted for more than could be measured. His trip to Convera had left him angry and discouraged.

  The konag’s escort rode fast at Koll’s insistence. Once across the boundary into Norterra, they picked up five additional soldiers provided by his vassal lord Alcock, who also accompanied the king, eager to discuss the defenses his people had made to his own stronghold and the larger towns in his holding.

  “I have three wreth ruins in my county, Sire,” he said as they approached the great stone walls surrounding Fellstaff. “We’ve scavenged a little from them over the centuries, taking the cut stone to build our homes and boundary fences, but most of the ruins are untouched.” He gave a wry frown. “They certainly aren’t easy to take apart.”

  “Good thing we can use something from the wreths, after all they did to us in their wars,” Koll grumbled. From the saddle of his borrowed horse, he looked up at the city walls that had stood for centuries.

  As the horses approached the gate, Alcock spoke in a quiet voice. “What if they want their old cities back, too? What if they want the whole
land back?”

  “They can’t have it.” Koll’s defiance had been building for days. He lowered his voice and repeated, “They can’t have it!”

  The vassal lord had brought a ledger with his report of weapons and armor, how many soldiers he could raise, with a special notation for fighters who actually had experience in war. Since the Commonwealth had been at peace for decades, there weren’t many veterans, only a few old soldiers who had served with Koll in the Isharan war. A long time ago, they had followed him all the way to Norterra because they wanted a quiet life where they could forget the bloody battles. As king, Koll had succeeded in giving them that for years. But now …

  Wall sentries announced Kollanan’s return, and as the party rode through the high wooden gates, people came to cheer. Koll forced a confident expression and raised a hand in greeting, heading with determination toward the blocky castle in the center of the city. Home … and Tafira.

  Riding through the streets, Koll watched his people at their shops, their forges, their homes. Daily lives, normal concerns. Women sat on overturned buckets in front of their houses, mending clothes. Metalsmiths scolded their apprentices in workshops, leatherworkers made boots and saddles, tanners scraped hides and dunked them in large dye basins. Fur traders displayed skins stretched on willow racks.

  The castle was still hung with black mourning banners, and a dark pennant flew from the highest tower. Reaching the stable courtyard, Kollanan dismounted and surrendered his horse to a stable boy, while staff guards came to meet the military escort from Convera. Servants arranged temporary quarters in the castle for Lord Alcock.

  Koll left them all behind. He flung open the nearest entrance, dusty in his riding clothes. He drew a deep breath of his castle, smelling the lingering spices from Tafira’s cooking, the smoke from fires in the hearths, which was so much better than the smoke he had smelled in the air for days.

  Tafira hurried to greet him, and their eyes met in an embrace even before they reached each other. Then she was in his arms, and he held her, squeezing tight. Kollanan didn’t speak; he didn’t need to. He felt her strong stance, her soft body pressed against him. He inhaled deeply of her hair, smelled the honeysuckles she used in making soap. He drew energy just from touching her.

  “Did you talk with your brother about the wreths?” she asked. “Is he sending help? Did you and Adan warn him?”

  “We did, but I don’t know how he will order the Commonwealth to respond.”

  She pulled away to look into his face. “Why would he doubt you?”

  “He has other crises that he thinks are more serious. There’s talk of war with Ishara again. There have been bloody raids on the coast, and the people want revenge. Conndur’s Brava has even called for an outright attack.”

  Tafira frowned. “You know all Bravas hate Isharans. A war with Ishara would go on for a long time, as it did before, and in the end nothing would change.” The lines on her face deepened as she frowned. “I hated that war.…”

  He held her tighter. “Yes, and the wreths mean to bring about the end of the whole world. For the time being at least, we may be on our own here in Norterra. We make our own decisions. We fight our own battles.”

  The kitchens were in a scramble to make the evening meal. The crowded room was already quite warm, thanks to the ovens baking bread, but young Pokle came in, carrying a full load of wood in his arms. He wore warm clothes, a woolen sweater, and extra socks, as if he never wanted to be cold again. “Got to keep the fires burning. Can’t let the ovens grow cold.” Through the stacked split logs in his arms, he saw Koll. “King Kollanan, you’re back!”

  “Glad to see you looking warm and healthy,” Koll said.

  The boy spluttered numerous questions, but Koll was focused on Tafira, and she was engrossed in having her husband back. The queen left the staff with instructions as she led him to their chambers so he could change and wash, and so they could talk in private.

  As he tossed his dusty cloak onto a cedar chest in the corner, she poured water from a ewer into a porcelain basin, drenched a rag, wrung it out, and began to wipe the dust and sweat from his face, stroking his beard. He tugged open the lacings of his shirt and pulled the dirty garment over his head. She helped him, then tossed it to the side.

  She was reticent, reluctant, and before he could ask, she delivered her news. “I am worried. Lasis departed two weeks ago, riding north. He was going to do reconnaissance at Lake Bakal, gather vital information we would need about the wreths.” She rinsed the rag, squeezed dirty water into the basin, and began to bathe his chest. “I’ve heard nothing from him, and I’m afraid something terrible happened.”

  “He went to Lake Bakal by himself?” Kollanan filled in the details with his imagination. “Sometimes he is impetuous, but he often rides off alone. He is probably studying their movements, their defenses, gathering intelligence. He could have quite a report for us when he comes back.”

  “Two weeks, beloved! What if the wreths saw him? What could he have done against an army of them?” Tafira asked. She sounded shaken.

  Koll could not hide his concern. “Bravas have powerful magic, but their pride sometimes blinds them. Maybe Lasis was too brash. He could have been captured or killed.”

  He sat back on the bed, and Tafira helped him pull off his dusty boots. He let out a troubled sigh as he washed his feet and put on doeskin slippers. “We’ll need an army of our own, because I intend to fight.” His shoulders slumped with the weight of his concerns, but he squared them again, straightened his back. “It is the best we can do, and it’s the only thing we can do, even without the rest of the Commonwealth army. Norterra is strong. And we’ll find out what happened to Lasis.”

  Tafira stroked the side of his face. “We have to defend our homes.”

  Shifting the cloak, he opened his cedar chest and withdrew a light woolen undershirt. He added a pale blue jerkin embroidered with the mountain symbol of Norterra. “If we are defending our homes, then it’s too late. We have to save our kingdom, maybe all of the Commonwealth if Conndur is too blind to see the real danger. Our army needs to be strong enough.”

  Having traveled over the mountains and across his kingdom, he had seen the rich forests, the crops and the orchards, the flocks of sheep, the small herds of cattle. The sight made him consider how well humans had survived in the aftermath of the wreths. They had salvaged the land from devastation, made their own history, their own legacy.

  “This land is ours,” he said, in a firm voice. “The wreths ruined it last time, drained the magic—and we spent two thousand years healing it. Will we simply be brushed aside because we’re in the way of some other war?” He felt hot tears in his eyes. “Like they did at Lake Bakal? Humans are the inheritors of this continent, and we will not be ignored.”

  He felt a dark twisting in his heart as the grief slowly penetrated. Lasis, his ever-loyal Brava and friend, was quite likely dead, along with his daughter and her husband, his grandsons …

  “Will we be strong enough for that?” Tafira asked him.

  “We have to be.”

  57

  EVERY night on her journey, Glik dreamed of skas.

  With the point of her knife, she carved a circle in the bark of a stunted pine just below the tree line on the slopes, and she pushed on into the far western mountains. As she walked, Glik looked up into the blue emptiness of the sky and felt a longing in her heart. In the past when she traveled, her dear Ori had flown high to scout the best route, and then returned to land on her shoulder. Now she was alone. A month without Ori had felt like a gray emptiness.

  She was determined to find her own new ska out here. The domesticated skas that were hatched and raised in captivity weren’t right for her. She had to find a new egg, not some already-trained pet for sale, because the very strongest heart links were established at a ska’s birth.

  Glik had never experienced true love with a boy, but she understood what it meant to have her heart broken. Why had Ori left her? I
n their last few months together, she had sensed the aging ska drawing more distant from her. When the sandstorm came, maybe Ori had been looking for an excuse to go, though Glik couldn’t understand why he would do that. If her beloved ska knew he was dying, she would have wanted to be there, to hold and comfort him until the end.

  But Ori had chosen otherwise, abandoning her. It had torn her apart inside.

  Several days ago on her trek, she had been startled by an uproar of skas, converging in a cloud of wings and scales high overhead. They seemed to come from everywhere. Despite the distance, Glik heard their fearful clamor in her head, like the presence of Ori, but echoing and overlapping by the thousands. This wasn’t a vision; it was real.

  Drowning in the tide of sounds and thoughts, Glik let herself imagine she was floating through the sky with them. After the wave of skas passed, she found herself on the ground among the dry grasses. For a time, her mind had been carried along with the countless skas flying south, and then she realized she was lying on her back looking up, shuddering and sweating.

  Something terrible had disturbed them, but the skas would return. She traced a circle around her heart. After what she had seen, Glik knew exactly where they went to roost.…

  Now she saw the dark silhouette of a ska high in the sky. Two other specks joined it, circling and playing in the air, dancing on the winds. They were calling her, guiding her. Though these wild skas were not heart-linked to her, as Ori had been, she still felt them. The way ahead became as sharp and clear as a diamond in her mind.

  She scrambled to her feet and climbed higher, thrashing through low scrub oak and spiky grasses, and the flying figures swooped lower. Laughing, she waved to them. “Over here! Come see me.”

  The skas continued to glide on thermals, swooping around in a perfect circle. A sign! As they played and tumbled, she caught flashes of blue plumage, white plumage, and a larger red one. They seemed to be taunting her. “I’m the best companion you could ever find!” Glik promised them. Were they testing her? “Show me where to find your eggs!”