Spine of the Dragon

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Sitting in the stern of the landing boat, Klovus drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his rain-soaked caftan. He glanced at his two assigned guards and nodded as if communicating something that Cemi didn’t understand.

  The priestlord muttered, “The empra still lives.” The men nodded, and he lowered his voice. “But it is good enough.”

  99

  WITH the Fulcor keep in total chaos, Utho wrapped his iron-hard arms around Prince Mandan. The young man sobbed, unable to form words. Utho roared in a voice that echoed out of Conndur’s blood-soaked chamber. “We’ve been betrayed! The Isharan animals killed the konag.”

  Word spread through the garrison like the cold wind that blew against the island. Commonwealth soldiers howled for revenge. Fighting continued in the yard and on the rooftop.

  Mandan wailed, and Utho kept holding him in a cagelike grip. “You’re safe, my prince. I’ll protect you. I would never let that happen to you.”

  “He—his eyes! The blood, his h-heart!”

  “They weren’t satisfied just to kill him,” Utho said. “The animals had to show us their contempt. See the true nature of the allies your father wanted to make? These are our enemies, not some ancient legend about a buried dragon. You have to see that!”

  Mandan smothered his face against the Brava’s chest, muffling his sobs.

  The two other Bravas on the island bounded to the konag’s chamber and stood at the doorway. Swarthy, pock-faced Gant let out a roar. “I’ll kill them all myself!”

  Klea said in a cold voice, “No, we will kill them all together.”

  “There’s much killing to be done,” Utho agreed, “but first we have to get Prince Mandan to safety. What if the Isharans brought a godling? This could be just the first step in a much larger attack. We need to get him off this island and back to Osterra so we can plan our next move.”

  “I want to leave,” the young man groaned. “I want to go home.”

  Utho peeled the prince away from him. Although Mandan trembled, looking lost and helpless, the Brava forced the young man to look at his father’s mutilated body, the blood on the sheets, the walls, even the ceiling. The prince needed to remember every detail. “This is an awful betrayal, but what if they intend to do even worse? To all of us? Even this storm may be something they conjured with their magic.” Utho shook his head, and snapped to the two Bravas, “Get Mandan out of here.” He lowered his voice to emphasize his words. “He is konag now.”

  A deep understanding flashed among the others as they realized the consequences of Conndur’s murder, though not even his comrades would guess what Utho himself had done to arrange this. From the beginning, his fellow Bravas had resisted any possible alliance with the Isharans, but he wasn’t sure they would accept the lengths to which he had gone to prevent it. It didn’t matter anymore. He had drawn back the bow of possibilities and let fly the arrow of destiny. There was no calling it back.

  After tonight, the Commonwealth would never accept peace with the Isharans.

  As word of the konag’s murder spread, vengeful soldiers streamed out of the barracks and flooded across the muddy courtyard. Sword fights echoed through the main hall and in the corridors. Utho expected that most of the Isharans would be massacred in the next hour, but they were wily and desperate. Some might get away.

  Right now, he would whisk Mandan back to the flagship, not merely for the young man’s safety, but to keep that arrow flying. The prince could not be allowed to stay, or he might ask too many questions.

  A pair of Conndur’s soldiers charged into the konag’s chamber and stopped, pale and panting, the words ripped from their mouths at the sight of such carnage. One of the soldiers turned away and covered his eyes, shuddering.

  “Report!” Utho barked.

  The soldier swallowed hard. “We’ve received word from the rooftop, where there was great fighting. It is not clear, sir, whether or not the empra survived.”

  Though surprised, Utho could not hide his pleasure, knowing that it would be a good thing if she were dead. “What happened? Was she attacked?”

  The soldier seemed confused. “But … witnesses said that you were the one who tried to kill the empra. How did you come to be here?”

  Utho was ready to strike the man in his impatience. “Don’t talk nonsense. I have been here since the prince discovered his father. How could I have been on the rooftop? Is there still fighting?”

  “Watchman Osler and his garrison men battled bravely, but the watchman is dead, as are many of our soldiers. Rather than be captured, the assassin leaped over the wall and down the cliffs. He’s dead. But the witnesses … we thought it was you, Utho. Even our own people saw—”

  Utho ground his teeth together, trying to understand what the soldier was babbling about. “I would have liked to kill Iluris, but I cannot take credit for it.” He issued orders before shock could paralyze the soldier. “When you capture Isharans tonight, throw them over the cliff as well. Feed them to the reefs. They must all die.”

  He turned to the two Bravas who remained wary in the corridor. “Gant, Klea, with me! We will escort Mandan down to the ship immediately, protect him with our very lives. We also…” His voice hitched as guilt surged through him, but he drove it back, dammed it up behind a wall of determination. “We also have to take the konag’s body. We can’t leave him here. He has been mutilated. What else might those animals do to his remains? Conndur, my beloved Conndur, must go home to Osterra.”

  Gant let out a low growl. “The people of the Commonwealth have to see what those monsters did to him. My lord Cade will lead a call for vengeance across the land.”

  Utho realized that particular response was vitally important as well. Yes, he could work with Cade.

  Accepting the grim mission, the two Bravas gathered the pieces of Konag Conndur, placed them with the main body, and wrapped them together in a long sheet. They lashed the arms and legs into a separate, grisly package.

  Mandan stared numbly while they bundled the remains of his slain father, and Utho let him keep watching. Every instant of this experience had to be seared into the prince’s memory. He must never forget.

  As the fighting continued, Utho realized that a fire had started in the northern wing of the keep. Normally, garrison soldiers would empty the cisterns and draw up buckets of seawater to fight a fire, but no one seemed concerned about the spreading blaze in the downpour. They were more interested in killing one another.

  Utho, Mandan, and the two Bravas stepped out into the rain. Commonwealth soldiers howled curses at the Isharans, and the words gave Utho strength. Their anger had been sparked, and now they understood the revulsion and distrust that Bravas felt toward Isharans. The atrocities Utho had inflicted upon his friend were only a fraction of the horrors that had been visited on Mareka and his daughters, or on the original Brava settlers of Valaera.

  A vengewar was not a quick thing, but it was necessary for his people. He would eventually have his satisfaction.

  Soldiers fought in the courtyard, swords against swords. When he saw one garrison defender thrust his blade deep into the guts of an Isharan soldier, Utho felt the exhilaration as if he had stabbed the enemy himself.

  Lightning split the sky, and Mandan stumbled to his knees in the mud, but Utho grabbed him, pulled him to his feet again. “Come, my prince, I’ve sworn to keep you safe.”

  The other two Bravas ran alongside, carrying the horrific bloodstained packages that held Conndur’s corpse.

  “Some Isharans have already escaped, Utho,” called one of the garrison officers who had served as Watchman Osler’s deputy. “We killed many, but couldn’t stop all of them. They took the empra on a stretcher. She seemed grievously injured.”

  “I hope she dies.” As far as Utho knew, Empra Iluris had not named a successor, and without an heir, Ishara would descend into anarchy and civil war. The priestlords would fight among one another, and other claimants might try to take over the Serepol palace. Good.
That would weaken them for when the Commonwealth navies swept across the new world.

  “My father wanted peace,” Mandan said, stumbling along, as if unable to believe where he was.

  “And look what they did to him,” Utho said. They ducked through the gate and down the treacherous exposed steps. They headed toward the pier where the Commonwealth flagship was tied up, ready to depart. Others had already sounded an alarm, telling the captain to prepare to set sail immediately.

  “The Isharans agreed to come to Fulcor Island as neutral ground. They can’t be trusted,” Utho told Mandan. “They can’t be believed.”

  They made their way to the docks, meeting little resistance because most of the Isharans were already gone, or slain. Utho gave strict orders for the garrison soldiers and most of the Commonwealth fighters to stay and defend the island. “We dare not let this tragedy allow the Isharans to take over our stronghold here. That may have been their scheme all along.”

  After they loaded the bloody packages aboard the ship, Utho turned to Klea. “Stay here on Fulcor. I want you in charge. We will sail away immediately with a minimal crew, because I want Mandan safely back in Convera Castle, but you—you’re my best choice to be the next watchman of the garrison. Keep the fortress strong and well defended. The enemy could attack at any time.”

  The iron-hard older woman nodded. “I’ll make certain that any Isharan who survives the battle tonight goes over the wall to the reefs.”

  Utho could not ask for more.

  Klea clamped the gold band around her wrist, ignited the ramer, and raised a full blazing blade. She turned back to the cliffside stairs. “I have work to do.” She ran with long-legged strides up the stairs and disappeared into the walled fortress.

  Utho and Gant settled the prince aboard the ship, while the captain shouted for the anchor to be raised. Iron chains rattled.

  Mandan was shivering as Utho pulled him down among crates and barrels on the deck for temporary shelter. They wouldn’t go below to their cabins just yet. Utho wanted to watch the departure.

  “My father was just trying to help the human race,” Mandan groaned. “What about the wreths? The dragon? He was sending a warning. We saw Mount Vada!”

  “You saw what happened here tonight.” Utho crouched next to the prince. “I don’t give a damn about wreths, and neither do you.”

  Mandan shuddered, but Utho shook him hard by the shoulders. “You’re konag now. You rule the Commonwealth. Our future is in your hands—and I’ll help you any way I can.”

  The young man blinked his red-rimmed eyes, his mouth open in disbelief.

  Utho hammered the words home. “There can never be peace with those animals.”

  Mandan continued to weep, but he swallowed hard and drew a deep breath. In a small voice, he agreed. “Never peace. We must destroy the Isharans.”

  The Commonwealth warship sailed away from the stark cliffs and out into the stormy night.

  100

  IN the blacksmith’s yard, Shadri watched Queen Tafira hurl one knife after another at the practice post. She took careful notes about the different types of blades, knowing she might need the knowledge later.

  The blacksmith watched the queen, pale with anxiety. “The post is narrow, my lady, used for testing swords up close. Perhaps we should set up a wider target? A loose blade could fly astray.”

  Tafira picked up a long knife with a sharp tip. She held it by the point, weighed it, switched to hold the hilt in her other hand, then flipped it over and flung it in an abrupt gesture. The knife spun in the air and embedded itself into the soft upright pine log.

  The blacksmith had presented the queen with a full selection of knives, and Shadri inspected them all as Tafira taught her about the different blade designs. “While Commonwealth users often sharpen both sides for a double-edged knife, Isharans strengthen the tang, make the edge long and razor sharp.” Shadri was delighted to have her numerous questions answered clearly and patiently, for a change.

  Under Tafira’s guidance, the blacksmith had been experimenting with different styles. The queen inspected them, offered samples to Shadri. “You’ll need a good knife of your own, dear girl. Everyone in Norterra should have a blade for protection, especially now.”

  “But I’m just a scholar.” Shadri flushed. “I can learn about knives, but I’ve had no occasion to fight with them. If I get in a bad situation, I might be better off running as fast as I can.”

  “Then learn how to fight. When I was a young woman about your age, the people of my village were complacent. They thought their godling would always protect them, but they didn’t bother to keep it strong, nor did they keep themselves strong. And when the raiding party came through Sarcen, everyone suffered for it.”

  Shadri had tried throwing knives, but although her fingers were good for writing long accounts, they did not have the dexterity for blade work. But she made an effort to learn, humming and concentrating. Pokle practiced with her, and the gangly young man showed no more skill than she did. He was good at hunting small game, and at first his fighting abilities had not extended beyond splitting wood, but he was getting better every day. They both were.

  Shadri always kept her leather-bound notebook with her, its pages covered with thoughts and observations, but she still had room for additional notes in the margins, and King Kollanan had promised her all the blank journals she needed. Shadri had spent a lot of time talking to Tafira, learning about Isharan culture from the queen’s childhood. The two women often sat together by the fire, and Tafira told Shadri wistful stories, pieces of her legacy, how she had come here as a frightened young bride from a foreign land, and how she had fallen entirely in love with Koll the Hammer.

  When the queen told stories of their daughter, her deep brown eyes would grow misty. She talked about how rambunctious Jhaqi could climb trees faster and higher than anyone else, how she had nearly drowned in a fast mountain stream while trying to catch trout with her bare hands, how the two grandsons took after their adventurous mother more than their serious father. Shadri had filled her book with notes as she listened with all her heart. In her new role in Fellstaff, she liked to think of herself as a legacier, in practice if not in official designation.

  Queen Tafira also had an edge to her personality, an iron determination as she accepted responsibility for the kingdom for the time being. With Kollanan gone on his raid to the north, she did not relax. Instead, Tafira moved daily through the city to meet with blacksmiths, swordmakers, armorers, tanners, and fletchers, all working to build up the defenses of Norterra. And she made herself ready, too.

  Now, inspecting the blacksmith’s knives, the queen picked a small dagger that could easily be tucked into a boot. She flipped it, then threw it at the post. The thin knife slid into a crack in the pinewood.

  Distant shouts rang out from the city wall. “Riders are coming!”

  Tafira retrieved her knives and gave a brusque nod to the blacksmith. “These will do nicely for us. Now make hundreds of them.” She turned to Shadri, her expression filled with hope and dread. “Let’s go greet them and see how many came home.”

  Wearing rumpled clothes, Pokle ran out to join them, and they all hurried down the winding streets to the northern gates. A large force of riders approached along the road. Shadri tried to count them, but there was too much dust for her to be sure. “It wasn’t a massacre at least, my lady,” she said. “Looks like most of the war party.”

  “They fought the wreths!” Pokle laughed in disbelief. He was squirming with excitement. “They fought the wreths, and they came home!”

  “Even one casualty is still a high cost,” Tafira said, then added in a resigned voice, “but it’s a cost we expect to pay.” She ordered the gates to be opened wide.

  At the front of the party, King Kollanan rode on Storm. Queen Tafira stood with her arms raised, signaling them, struggling to remain dignified, but failing. Shadri could tell she wanted to run out to meet the party. Tears of joy welled in the quee
n’s eyes.

  Shadri gasped when she saw Elliel and Thon riding close beside him. Grinning, she waved both her hands in the air, realizing how worried she had been about her two friends.

  The party rode forward, exhausted and bedraggled but eager to get back to the city. Lord Bahlen and his Brava came after bearlike Lord Ogno, with the rest of the fighters strung out double file on the road. Halfway down the line, one man proudly raised the banner of Norterra, and another held the flag of the Commonwealth. When the riders reined in, slowing as they passed through the gates, Shadri saw the shock on their faces, the dirt, sweat, torn cloaks, and scuffed armor.

  Tafira hurried toward King Koll as he slid out of his saddle. He wrapped his arms around his wife in a silent hug that lasted a full minute. “The battle was a success,” he said. “The wreth warriors were not prepared for us. They expected little when they saw us, and we hurt them. Deeply.”

  Shadri ran to Elliel and Thon, bursting with questions. “We succeeded,” Elliel said to no one in particular. “We damaged their fortress, killed an entire party of wreth warriors.” She looked impressive in her black Brava uniform, though her close-cropped hair still looked strange to Shadri.

  Kollanan glanced over at the dark-haired wreth, nodding in admiration. “Thon unleashed magic beyond even what I had hoped.” He turned back to the queen and shook his head. His voice hitched. “But our grandson wasn’t there after all—but he still lives, as far as we know. Lasis and Elliel searched while we diverted their defenses with a frontal attack. They killed a wreth mage, but they got the information we needed.” His expression hardened with determination rather than dismay. “Birch is still a prisoner of the frostwreth queen, somewhere far to the north.” He held Tafira tighter. “But there’s still hope. We can still rescue him.”

  Tafira’s eyes sparkled with tears, and she rested her head against the king’s chest. “Yes, we will rescue him.”