Spine of the Dragon

by Kevin J. Anderson

  The ska flew, instinctively understanding a thousand aerial maneuvers. Glik reached out her hands, stretching as if she could join her companion. Ari buzzed past the girl’s face, taunting her and teasing her, then swung up into the sky again, a sparkle of blue. Glik let out a sigh that vibrated with her own pleasure and contentment.

  Yes, Glik remembered this exhilaration from her time with Ori, but it felt different, already stronger. She had linked with Ori when he was already mature, but this beautiful blue ska was young, fresh, and filled with the energy of love and closeness. When she was ready, Glik called her new companion, stroked her back and the sides of her neck, and then reverently attached the collar she had carried with her since the Utauk camp. The ribbon was thin, the mothertear gleaming, seemingly too large for the tiny reptile bird, but Ari preened, delighted to have it. She took wing again.

  Ari flew far overhead, and Glik used the heart link to fly along with her, soaring on the winds, exuberant in the freedom of the open air. The sky was an entire kingdom, and the young reptile bird wanted to explore all of it through her link with Glik, a link partly of the heart and partly of magic.

  Whole again, the girl reveled in her sense of wonder about the landscape, the hills, plains and rivers, the clear lakes, even the old battle scars from the wreth wars. The beginning is the end is the beginning.

  Having left the mountains behind, Glik stood on a grassy plain, hands at her sides, face turned upward, just staring at the little speck that was Ari. Her new precious companion soared in the open vastness and feared nothing, but the ska never went out of sight. Glik knew that Ari wouldn’t leave her. The tether of friendship could stretch long and thin, but she remained connected to her human partner and would always come back.

  Glik could feel Ari’s joy secondhand as she gulped a feast of flying beetles. Below her, the girl laughed and ran through the rushing grasses and tall thistles. She couldn’t see directly through the reptile bird’s faceted eyes, but when Ari came back to land lightly on her shoulder Glik could review the images in the mothertear collar. At the moment, though, she just had to imagine what her partner was seeing.

  For the next several days, Glik followed the trails of blue poppies and made her way back into the Suderran foothills. The flowers were only a dash of color to outside observers, but a secret map to any Utauk. She found signs of recent hoofprints, wheel ruts, horse droppings, campfire rings. Her young ska circled overhead, making shrill music as if to communicate with other reptile birds nearby.

  Glik came upon a large Utauk caravan camp, although nothing like the recent great convocation that had filled the river valley. Seeing the wagons and the colorful fabrics, Glik realized this was the heart camp that traveled with Shella din Orr herself.

  The orphan girl entered the camp to a chorus of happy greetings. Children flew kites in the afternoon winds, and three fully grown skas circled in the air, chasing them. Ari flitted in among the bigger reptile birds, who welcomed her, flying in loops. The little blue ska tried to keep up with them and clicked in frustration when they swirled out of her reach on more powerful wings. As if in a huff, Ari came down and landed on Glik’s shoulder, just as the old matriarch’s two bearded nephews opened the flaps of the tent to welcome her inside. She moved with a spring in her step.

  The crone sat upright on her blanket made with the threads of hundreds of families. “You’ve returned, dear girl! Cra, I hope you brought stories? My nephews only talk business and complain, but you’ve always been a delight to me.”

  Glik sat cross-legged on the rug, drawing a circle around her heart. “A mutual delight, Grandmother. Come along on my travels. It would make you feel young again.”

  Shella cackled. “It would indeed.”

  Even though Utauks kept a vast amount of ancestral information in their records, Shella din Orr herself remained an enigma. Rumors said that the old woman had five husbands and twenty children over the course of her long life. Shella’s bloodline extended in all directions, like the woven threads in the tapestry mat.

  Her eyes fixed on Ari, who bobbed on Glik’s shoulder as if impatient to be introduced. “I’m glad that you’ve found a new ska. You were so lonely.”

  “I was,” Glik admitted, feeling a lump in her throat. “Not anymore. Isn’t Ari magnificent?”

  The reptile bird spread her wings, waiting for the matriarch to affirm the compliment.

  “Indeed, a truly beautiful ska and an excellent companion,” Shella said. “I can sense the power of your heart link from here. Although my eyes are old and dim, Ari’s beauty brings a sparkle to them.”

  The ska buzzed happily.

  Shella ordered her nephews to bring the evening’s potage of spiced venison and rabbit with vegetables. Glik tucked her legs beneath her and told of her adventures, from the Plain of Black Glass and finding the dead prospector, to climbing the mountains and retrieving the ska egg. As she scraped the last gravy from the bowl, she looked up at the old woman, troubled. “Found something very strange in the grotto, Grandmother. Like a huge shell or a cocoon wall. Something stirring inside.” Her skin crawled as she remembered the shifting shadows, the flicker of an enormous faceted eye. “Had a vision, too, sudden and dark, powerful, dangerous—like great thunder inside my head.”

  “You found this among the ska eyries?” Shella’s frown turned the skin of her face into a wilderness of wrinkles. “I think it was a dragon.”

  Surprised, Glik looked up. “Never seen a dragon. Dreamed of them lots of times.”

  “Your dreams have always been strong, child. That’s why you’re special.” Shella sighed wistfully. “I saw a real dragon once, when I was just a girl. Cra, they’re frightening things, and very rare. Children of Ossus, if you can believe the legends. If you ever see one, it’ll change your life, but you better hope it doesn’t see you. Or your ska.”

  Ari squirmed and rustled.

  The crone shifted her position on the blanket. “Now then, take that old collar off her. It’s too plain, and the mothertear is small.” She turned to an ornate wooden chest behind her. With gnarled but surprisingly nimble fingers, Shella worked a catch, twisted a knob, and pulled one of the small drawers open.

  “I had a ska of my own when I was a little girl. His name was Uga, and he was with me when we saw the dragon.” Shella reached into the drawer and pulled out a strip of blue ribbon. In the middle was a perfect diamond, larger than the one in Ari’s old collar. “He was a sapphire bird, just like yours. He flew off long, long ago when he was old.” Shella cackled. “What did he know about being old! I always meant to get another ska, so I had this collar made, but … I would like you to have it, for your Ari.”

  As Glik took it, tears welled in her eyes. “Thank you, Grandmother.” She turned her head sideways, close to the reptile bird. “Like it?”

  The ska buzzed and clicked, then hopped down to sit on the rug in front of Glik’s crossed legs. Removing the threadbare collar from the young bird, the girl wrapped the new one around Ari’s thin neck. “Beautiful.” The reptile bird fluttered her wings.

  “Now you both will see many fine things,” said Shella. “Just remember to come back and tell me everything.”

  Ari hopped back onto Glik’s shoulder, eager to go out and explore the world. Together.

  69

  “I THINK you like the wealth and fame of being a merchant captain, Hale Orr,” said the voyagier as the two men waited on the deck of the Glissand. They had sailed out to sea again, carrying Konag Conndur’s urgent message for the empra. “Why else would you enlist my ship again so soon?”

  Hale snorted. “Cra, I’ve been searching for wealth and fame all my life. I can’t seem to find it on any of our charts.” He grew serious. “How can I enjoy wealth when I am worried about the fate of the world? I fear for my dear daughter and my unborn grandchild.”

  Normally, upon arriving in Rivermouth or all the way up to Convera, the crew would rest in port for a week, unloading and loading, but when Hale Orr sha
red the bonus the konag had offered for them to make this special voyage, they were more than happy to change their plans.

  Mak Dur tacked north to catch a swifter current that would let them bypass Fulcor Island by a significant distance. Unlike his last trip, Hale could not relax and enjoy the open sea. For centuries, Utauk traders had walked a fine line between the old world and the new, using their neutrality as a buffer between the simmering anger between the two lands. As a younger man, Hale had seen hostilities flare up in Konag Cronin’s war, but now with the prospect of a common enemy and an open-minded konag, the two continents had a chance to set aside their differences and become allies. Or at least stop fighting.

  That thought was a small glimmer of hope in an otherwise terrifying situation. When he saw Empra Iluris again, he would serve as an ambassador instead of a spy, and he would do his best to convince her. Maybe there was a chance.

  Unless the wreths destroyed it all.

  He drew a circle around his heart. The beginning is the end is the beginning. Seeing him, the voyagier gave a puzzled smile and drew a circle in response.

  * * *

  When the ship approached Serepol Harbor, they prominently displayed the Utauk circle on the Glissand’s sail so the Isharan navy would know who they were. While Mak Dur barked orders and the navigator set the rudder, Hale went to the bow as the city came into view. From here he could see the towers of the empra’s palace, the various temples with spires and ornate walls, the docks, the harbor buildings. Serepol was a beautiful city, the heart of a great empire.

  When they entered the harbor, though, his heart sank and the bright flame of hope died. Two ships were on fire in the water—Commonwealth vessels. As if to prevent escape, Isharan warships drifted on either side of the burning wrecks, far enough away that cinders would not catch on their red-striped sails.

  Mak Dur looked disturbed. “Why are those ships burning? Is the harbor under attack?”

  Hale answered in a husky voice. “The ships are burning because the Isharans set them on fire.” In this situation, how could he expect the empra to accept Conndur’s unexpected offer of détente? Would she listen at all?

  The voyagier shaded his eyes, and his expression changed as he understood what Hale was saying. “Those aren’t warships. They’re Commonwealth fishing trawlers.”

  Hale shook his head. “My guess is that the Isharans called them spies. Another provocation, likely in response to some previous provocation from the Commonwealth.” He couldn’t forget what the garrison had done to Isharan captives at Fulcor Island.

  “Are they holding prisoners for ransom?” the voyagier asked. “Do you think they’ll send demands back with us to Osterra?”

  “It’s possible,” Hale lied. He knew there were no survivors. The people would have been executed as soon as the navy captured the vessels, or maybe the poor men and women were being burned alive even now, sealed in the holds of their own ships.

  His hopes of delivering a friendly invitation were dashed. Even if Empra Iluris had been open to such discussions in the name of peace, her people would not allow it. The situation had become much uglier.

  With his good hand Hale touched the leather pouch that held the konag’s formal letter asking Iluris to trust him. Hale’s eyes stung as the Glissand sailed past the smoking hulks. At the water’s edge, he saw crowds of Isharans gathered to watch the enemy ships burn, to cheer the violence.

  Hale muttered, “This is not a good sign for delivering a message of peace.”

  “Not a good sign at all,” Mak Dur agreed.

  70

  FARMERS brought their late-season harvest to sell in the open markets in Fellstaff. Every day, mule-drawn wagons came in piled high with potatoes, hard squash, onions, carrots. Orchard keepers delivered apples and pears, along with barrels of fresh-pressed cider.

  Because of the spreading rumors of war, people began to stockpile the harvest in root cellars and granaries. King Kollanan had a standing order to purchase any surplus to be stored in the cool, dry vaults beneath Fellstaff Castle.

  Queen Tafira made different plans. She had Pokle accompany her to one of the market squares, where she purchased three pumpkins so enormous she could barely encircle them with her arms. They were soft on one side, beginning to rot. The farmer had hoped to sell them for a few coppers as pig food, or to someone who wanted to roast the plentiful seeds.

  Tafira paid a silver coin for all three without even haggling, which the farmer considered an astonishing sum. Pokle was amazed. “But, ma’am, there are better pumpkins. I could help you pick.”

  The farmer shushed him. “The queen’s made her decision, boy. Don’t argue with the lady of the castle.”

  He stammered. “B-but I was just suggesting—”

  “The others aren’t as big, Pokle. These will do just fine,” Tafira said, without explaining why. She had him help the farmer load the pumpkins into his cart so he could transport them to the castle. “Take them to the courtyard near the stables. That’s where I’ll need them.”

  * * *

  Koll sat in his study with the window open. A deep, bitter cold would soon creep downward from the north, with or without the frostwreths, so he wanted the fresh air while it lasted.

  At his desk, wishing that he had Lasis to help him with the work, he updated the ledgers with reports from his eight counties. He had no proof that his bonded Brava had been killed, but in his heart, he was sure Lasis had gone to confront the frostwreths, and had failed.…

  Koll had also dispatched other scouts to report what they could about what was happening at Lake Bakal. The wreths had continued building their great structure, but had made no other movement. Yet.

  Now, he turned back to the paperwork. The mines in the mountains had orders to produce as much pig iron as possible, and the king had instructed all blacksmiths to dedicate their efforts to fashioning swords, shields, breastplates, helmets. Hunters and trappers redoubled their efforts to bring in warm furs for the army. Shepherds sheared their sheep and delivered great bales of wool to make thick blankets and garments. Remembering Lake Bakal, though, he doubted any blade, shield, or blanket would have protected the villagers against the unnatural freezing wave. Koll closed his eyes, still feeling the tears burn when he thought of the child’s small hand in the snow, white fingers curled around the wooden carving of a pig.…

  Tafira appeared at the doorway wearing long, colorful skirts with just a few bangles and ribbon flourishes that reminded her of Ishara. She held two long knives in her hands. “Come with me to the courtyard. There’s something I want to show you.” Her smoky voice was intense, her accent more prominent now as it often got when she was determined about something. She held the knives with a casual ease, and her dark eyes sparkled. She was being intentionally mysterious.

  He had seen this mood before. “You’re far more interesting company than these ledgers anyway, beloved.”

  Her expression fell, and her eyes darted away. “Please don’t call me that anymore.” Beloved was the word in her old village dialect for which their daughter Jhaqi was named.

  Kollanan shook his head, insistent. “I’ll still call you ‘beloved’ because you are my beloved, and because I won’t forget our daughter even if it hurts to think of her.”

  After a moment of silence, Tafira responded with a wan smile. “I accept your reasoning.” She turned to the door. “Bring your war hammer. You might need it.”

  He looked at his old weapon hanging above the fireplace. He had not touched it in a long time. With its long handle, massive head, and sharp maul, the weapon had earned him a terrifying reputation during the Isharan war. Koll the Hammer.

  Another king might have placed such a weapon in the great hall so that all visitors could be reminded of his legacy as a war hero, but Koll had never relied on his past, never embellished his stories, never tried to make his people fear him. The hammer was a part of his legacy, yes, and he could not ignore it, but he didn’t feel the need to show it off.
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br />   Tafira repeated, “Bring your hammer. Trust me.”

  Trusting her, he went to the wall and lifted the weapon from its mounting hooks. The hammer felt heavy in his hand, both frightening and comforting. “I hoped never to use this again.”

  “I hoped many things myself,” Tafira said. “You made my hopes real a long time ago, but the wreths may try to take them away. We’d better stop them from doing that.” She stepped into the hall. “Come with me. Pokle should have the pumpkins set up by now.”

  Out in the courtyard, the boy had propped the three huge pumpkins against the outer wall of the stable. The farmer’s cart had already departed. “Is this good, ma’am?” Pokle asked. “Or did you want them by the far wall?” The teen could not wrestle the big pumpkins very far by himself. Each one probably weighed more than he did.

  “That’ll do just fine,” Tafira said, “but you might want to get out of the way.”

  Seeing the two long knives in her hands and the battle hammer in Koll’s, he scuttled to a distance from which he could watch.

  “I always thought Lasis would keep us both safe,” Tafira said to Koll, and her expression darkened. “Now you only have me to save you—and I assure you, I can do it.”

  Koll’s heart felt warm. “I thought I was supposed to save you.”

  “You did that already, a long time ago back in my village. I intend to repay the favor.”

  “How—?”

  Tafira took the long knife in her right hand, balanced the hilt, then threw it in a flash. The long blade spun twice in the air and embedded itself to the crossguard in the soft orange flesh of a pumpkin. “Like that.” She threw the knife in her left hand. It whistled through the air and struck with such force that not only did the blade sink deep, but the hilt cracked the rind. “And that.”

  “Impressive,” he said with a laugh, and he meant it. “We’ll soon be ready for a war against the pumpkins.”