Spine of the Dragon

by Kevin J. Anderson

  A Commonwealth warship was tied up to the main dock inside the narrow harbor, but the Isharan captain decided—with the empra’s permission—just to drop anchor outside the cove, where there was no chance they would be trapped. “From here, we will take landing boats up to the dock, Excellency.”

  Captani Vos rallied the hawk guards to serve as the empra’s escort. The Isharans tied their striped sails and dropped anchors, one on each side of the ship.

  Iluris waited with Cemi, resting a gentle hand on her ward’s shoulder as they watched Commonwealth soldiers gather on the battlements high above. The empra said, “Cemi and I will board the first landing boat, along with Captani Vos and my hawk guards. The second landing boat will carry Key Priestlord Klovus and a contingent of Isharan soldiers.”

  “Yes, Mother,” said Vos.

  Trying to dispel her uneasiness, the empra went to the landing boats. As they were lowered into the water, she dared to hope, but remained wary. Waves washed against the rocks, and seabirds shrieked overhead.

  Empra Iluris prepared to meet her mortal enemies.

  81

  AFTER the konag’s hopeful mission departed for Fulcor Island, Hale Orr was done with his responsibilities in Convera. He just wanted to head back home to Bannriya to be with his people, with his daughter and her husband, to help defend Suderra. Most importantly, under no circumstances did he intend to miss the birth of his first grandchild, other world-shaking crises be damned!

  He’d left the gathering of Utauk tribes more than a month ago, crossing the land to Windy Head, sailing to Ishara and back, and now riding back to Bannriya. When Hale was younger, such travel would have been a grand adventure, but now he looked forward to his comfortable quarters in the castle. Not only did he feel old, he also felt done. Sensing tension in the air and smelling the smoke from the distant eruption, however, he knew that the dark times were a long way from being over.

  He rode inland, alone, and within three days encountered an Utauk caravan moving in the general direction of Suderra. The caravan leader, a salty heavyset woman named Rondi, recognized his colors and missing hand, and broke into a broad grin. Her bent front tooth gave her a rakish appearance. “Cra, I know you, Hale Orr! Any grandson of Shella din Orr is welcome among us.”

  “You must have a lot of welcome people, then, since she has many grandsons.” Hale swung down from his horse and gave Rondi a formal embrace, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “But I’m one of her favorites.”

  “That’s what hundreds of them say!”

  The caravan consisted of ten pack horses, three ponies, and a mule, along with forty people: Rondi’s grown children, her brothers, and their children. He rode along with them, and they traveled throughout the day. That night the caravan stopped on an open prairie, and the people set up camp with a handful of tents and three main cookfires. The animals were tied where they could graze.

  Rondi invited Hale inside the main tent for a bowl of barley-and-vegetable stew. She was joined by two older men, both of whom needed a shave, one with a potbelly, the other with an eye patch. Rondi introduced the potbellied man as her husband and the one-eyed man as her lover. Hale was surprised that the husband took no offense when Rondi flaunted her infidelity. Seeing his dubious expression, the man said in teasing tone, “Cra, no one man can stand her for very long. We need to take turns to give each other a rest.”

  Rondi made a rude noise. “No one man can satisfy a woman like me.”

  The lover said, “It’s a little of both. At least I can send her back to her husband if I get bored and want to find a lustier young woman.”

  She snorted again. “Have I bored you yet?”

  The man with the eye patch lounged on the ground, cradling the bowl of stew on his stomach. “It’s only been seven years. As long as you still have a few tricks, I’ll stay.”

  The husband rolled his eyes.

  Hale was unnerved by the enticing look Rondi gave him, but he remained polite, recalling the last time he’d been with his own wife, Alanna. It seemed so very long ago—Penda had been only eleven. Even then, Hale had grand plans for his beautiful daughter, although Alanna wanted him to be more realistic, expecting that Penda would marry an influential tribe member, maybe even run off with some boy she fell in love with.

  Hale’s wife was particularly good with their pack animals, tending them, training them, rounding them up each night as the tribe made camp. When one of their pregnant mares had a difficult time birthing, Alanna spent the night under a tarp tending the animal as a cold downpour splashed all around her. At long last, she helped the horse bring forth a spindly-legged foal … but afterward, Alanna caught a fever that raged for days. She coughed until it sounded as if her lungs would fly out of her mouth. Alanna died with Hale holding her shoulders and young Penda kneeling beside the camp bed.

  Since then, it had been just him and his daughter. He had taken no women after Alanna, despite having many subtle—and some blatant—offers. Although his self-image was still of a young and dashing adventurer, Hale knew that he shouldn’t be so picky. During normal peaceful times, he might have changed his mind, but these were not normal times. And so he slept alone.

  Hale remained with the caravan for three days as they traveled the main road south and west across Osterra. When they reached the dwindling southern end of the Dragonspine range, they encountered the periphery of devastation from the eruption. Smoke still hung in the air from forest fires that burned in the ridges to the north, and settling gray ash dusted the pines like snow.

  The caravan camped outside a village near an area of sulfurous steam vents. The town had been descriptively, and accurately, named Foul Stench, because of the active exhalations. The bubbling hot springs were even more active since the restlessness beneath Mount Vada, but despite the dangerous changes, the townspeople stayed. If Ossus did crack through the mountains and emerge into the world, they would all die in their homes.

  As Hale tried to sleep in camp, he felt the ground tremble. He spread his palm against the dirt and sensed some presence far below, stirring.…

  Next morning, he got up at dawn and drank his morning tea, but the water from Foul Stench had a bitter, soapy taste. Hoping he could find clear streams farther on, he bade the caravan leader farewell, ready to head off at a faster pace on his own.

  Rondi smiled with her crooked-toothed grin. “If you stayed with us, I’d make you feel more welcome.”

  But Hale mounted his horse and took the reins. “Another time, maybe. See that my information gets spread among the Utauks. We need our network now more than ever. So much happening in the world.” After drawing a circle in the air, he galloped off.

  He pushed the horse hard, covering many miles, until he realized that he would never get home if he wore out his mount. At a slower, steady pace, he traveled for days across the fertile counties of Suderra, always with an eye toward Bannriya.

  When at last he reached the open eastern gate in the sandstone walls, he rode in like any other traveler, drawing no attention to himself. This city had been his home for two years, and he’d been well familiar with it even before his daughter married Adan Starfall. He had visited Bannriya during the reign of King Syrus and the later uncomfortable time under the regents. Those had not been good years for trade or travel. Times had improved much under young King Adan, but now all that might change again.

  One of the Banner guards recognized him, and Hale gave a tired wave. “Cra, I’m back from my long journeys. I’ll ride directly up to the castle. I have a lot to discuss with my daughter and the king.”

  “I’m afraid they’re not here, sir. They’ve been gone these past several days.”

  “Gone? Where would they go?” Hale wondered if the Utauk tribes had summoned them again, if Shella din Orr had some new information to impart.

  “The sandwreths came, sir. Took King Adan and Queen Penda into the desert on a dragon hunt.”

  “A dragon hunt? Ancestors’ blood! A dragon has been
seen?” Hale urged the weary horse to greater speed toward the castle, where he received the same report from two ministers and the household staff.

  After such a long journey, Hale had looked forward to relaxing in his quarters. Since Adan and Penda were already gone, he took his time, bathed and rested, ate a large hot meal, which was quite different from the camp dinners he had made for himself. But that night as he slept under quilted blankets and slick sheets, in the room that he had decorated to look like a tent, he realized that the amenities in a big castle did not comfort him after all. No, he was an Utauk down to his bones.

  After staying only one day in the city, Hale headed off again into the hills. He hoped to find an encampment where he could spend long hours talking with other Utauks, exchanging news. To share and be shared.

  The world never ceased to surprise him. A dragon hunt! And Adan and Penda had gone willingly with the sandwreths, though he doubted they’d had any choice.

  Hale followed the blue poppies, which would eventually take him to one of the large camps. The future depended not only on the Utauk information network, but on the konag’s bold offer of an alliance with the Isharans. Humans would have to stand together against the wreths.

  But if Ossus awoke, he knew that the Utauk luck would finally run out.

  82

  ON Fulcor Island, Priestlord Klovus was among the godless in a place as bleak as their beliefs. The tired old Commonwealth had too little magic left in their land, and the people had too little faith in their hearts. They were incapable of creating godlings to protect them. They were flawed, inferior.

  In Ishara, though, Klovus always experienced the warm strength and benevolent power of the entities that watched over them. He understood the temples, knew that the people unwittingly used the land’s intrinsic magic to manifest their guardians.

  Now that he was far from Ishara, though, inside the austere stone walls of the Fulcor garrison, he felt naked and alone. Unsafe. Adrift and abandoned. Was this how the godless felt all the time?

  Under his breath, he cursed Empra Iluris for refusing to let them bring even a minor godling. Now they had only swords and armor to protect against Konag Conndur’s schemes. Klovus knew he would be safe, personally, since he had hidden four Black Eels among the common Isharan soldiers. But what of Ishara itself? Treachery would be bad enough, but an honest overture of peace and complacency might be even worse for the people and the godlings. In comfortable, prosperous times, the Isharans no longer felt so dependent on their deities. Therefore, people had little reason to sacrifice to them, or even believe in them, which would only weaken the entities.

  As key priestlord, he feared that gullible Empra Iluris might pose a danger as great as the Commonwealth. Even before she agreed to meet with the konag about his absurd proposal, she had done much to weaken the godlings back home, touting her reign of peace while stalling further construction on the Magnifica temple. Why did she fear the benevolent deities? Or was she more afraid of the priestlords having too much power? Would she sell out her land and people just to put him in his place?

  When Iluris and her hawk guards had stepped from their landing boats onto the dock, Klovus expected a flash of swords and a spray of blood. The godless soldiers could easily overwhelm that first group. Iluris was so naïve, so trusting.

  And yet, the Commonwealth guards treated the empra with respect and led her entourage up the steep cliffside stairs to enter the looming garrison above.

  When the second landing boat docked, Klovus disembarked, stared up at the cliffs, then set off at a brisk pace to catch up with the empra’s party. By the time he was halfway up the exposed steps, he was red-faced with the effort.

  Passing through the cleft in the cliff, which could well have hidden a deadly ambush, he climbed into the walled enclosure that encircled the top of the island. Fulcor had stood as a bastion for many centuries, but history was unclear as to who had actually built these ancient, sturdy defenses. Some said the island had been settled as a stopping point when the original Isharan settlers left the old world in search of new shores, without knowing where they were going. Though barren and unwelcoming, Fulcor was the only foothold of dry land in the expansive ocean. After pausing there, those pilgrims had set off again, dreaming eastward into unexplored waters, hoping for green shores, and they had discovered an entire virgin continent. At some point, this island stopping point had become contested territory, and a handful of defenders had turned it into a fortress. Eventually, the Isharan pioneers lost possession of the island to the barbarians from the old world, then the Isharans took it back … and lost it again. Over and over.

  Now, for some unfathomable reason, Konag Conndur had offered to return Fulcor to the Isharans if they agreed to some incomprehensible alliance. What could the man possibly be up to? “Hear us, save us,” Klovus muttered, though he was too far away for any godling to hear him.

  The wide walls had evenly spaced lookout posts, from which garrison soldiers could watch the ocean for approaching warships. The enclosed area held a parade ground, two sets of barracks, an armory, a mess and recreation hall. The most imposing building was the main keep, a blocky, two-story structure that rose even higher than the defensive walls. Every roof held a cistern to catch water from the frequent rainstorms. Trees and shrubs added a splash of green, along with small garden patches the soldiers had planted.

  Klovus caught up with Empra Iluris and her party just as they were being received by the garrison troops and the konag’s party. The priestlord looked around at the uniformed Isharan guards around them, and even he couldn’t tell which of the soldiers were his Black Eels, because their camouflage was so complete. He lifted his chin as he marched forward in his blue caftan, making sure everyone could see that, other than perhaps the empra, no one was more important.

  * * *

  With each additional load of Isharan soldiers that entered the garrison, Klovus felt slightly safer. Dour Watchman Osler met the arriving groups with a flat welcome—insincere words delivered in a grim and brittle voice.

  The empra and her important guests were given quarters in the northern wing of the main keep, separated by a great hall from the southern wing, which held Konag Conndur and his entourage. Klovus found his quarters unremarkable, chill and prisonlike, but he doubted he could improve them even if he made complaints.

  Under normal circumstances, the diplomatic parties would have rested and settled for a day or more before beginning their business. Fortunately, this was not a social meeting, and Konag Conndur wanted to begin discussions right away. For his own part, Klovus was anxious to have the ordeal over with. He wanted to know what they were up to.

  The workmanlike garrison kitchens produced basic food for the soldiers stationed there, but bean soup was not adequate for such esteemed guests. Thus, the Commonwealth ships had brought a fresh side of beef as well as some caged game birds that were killed and roasted for the welcoming dinner.

  The banquet table was a long, squared-off horseshoe. Konag Conndur and Empra Iluris had the two most prominent seats at the cross table, while the Isharans sat at one leg and the Commonwealth representatives at the other. The empra’s hawk guards stood along the wall, alert and staring at their counterparts across the room.

  Three black-garbed Bravas stood at attention, ready for violence. Klovus knew that most of the half-breed Bravas had been wiped out along with their invasive colony on the Isharan shores hundreds of years ago, although he remembered seeing two Bravas fighting the godling with fiery ramers during the Mirrabay raid. Perhaps the half-breeds were more prevalent than he thought. He studied the one called Utho, the konag’s personal Brava, sensing that he was a man to be feared. Utho’s face was studiously expressionless, but Klovus sensed a smoldering tension about the black-garbed man.

  Directly across from Klovus, a troubled-looking Prince Mandan picked at his meal. The future leader of the Commonwealth did not impress the priestlord. Conndur, on the other hand, seemed a formidable rival, determ
ined, strengthened by the weight of many decisions.

  With so many uncertainties looming in the air, the brief, innocuous conversation could not last long, and finally Iluris slid aside her plate and turned to the konag. “It serves no purpose to avoid the question foremost in our minds. Why did you bring us here, Konag Conndur? Although your message and your representative explained some things, I cannot fathom what is on your mind.”

  Conndur nodded slowly and gave her an uncertain smile. “You want to know what could possibly be so important that I would anger my people by asking you here for open talks? Why I would let myself be called a madman by my closest advisors? Why I would offer to give up this strategic island, just to show my sincerity in wanting an alliance?”

  “Precisely,” Iluris said. “The Utauk merchant captain told preposterous stories about wreth armies and restless dragons. Don’t ask us to believe such fancies. Why did you really bring us here?”

  Despite a stir of mutters among the Commonwealth representatives, Conndur kept his eyes fixed on her. “That is the truth, Empra. I called you here because of the wreths and a dragon.”

  Klovus rolled his eyes as the konag told of sandwreths emerging from the deserts with news of a coming war. He talked about frostwreths sweeping down from the north swallowing villages whole and building great ice fortresses. Then he described the shaking ground and explosions of fire from the mountain range under which Ossus was supposedly buried.

  Iluris sipped her goblet of wine. “Well, peace is always worth considering, whether or not the situation includes dragons or ancient races. Ever since your grieving Konag Cronin withdrew the great fleet and ended the war thirty years ago, our two lands have been at an uneasy standoff.”