The Dawn Star

by Catherine Asaro

  Down the hall, men in the aquamarine livery of Alzire heaved open the doors. The visitors from the Misted Cliffs entered with a swirl of motion, ten riders in leather armor and metal breastplates, each carrying a plumed helmet under his arm. Cobalt’s men accompanied the envoy, as did Tadimaja Pickaxe, who was one of the few aides Cobalt had kept from Prince Zerod’s staff.

  The warriors strode down the hall. Mel recognized the man in front: General Agate Cragland. He had stood with Cobalt at the wedding, when the Midnight Prince took Mel as his wife. Agate had iron-gray hair and a hearty physique unmatched by warriors half his age. He stopped before the dais with his men and they each went down on one knee, bowing their heads. Mel knew they knelt to her husband, Stonebreaker’s heir and now king of Shazire and Blueshire. They tolerated her only because she was his wife.

  “Please stand,” Cobalt said.

  Agate got back to his feet, his motions stiff. “I bring greetings from the Misted Cliffs, Your Majesty.”

  “Is my grandfather well?” Cobalt asked.

  When Agate paused, Mel’s unease grew. Then the general said, “I have a message from him.”

  Cobalt regarded him with a look Mel would have found hard to read a year ago. Agate’s phrasing disturbed him. She understood. What could Stonebreaker want that required a party of ten men, including the highest-ranked commander in his army?

  “I look forward to hearing it,” Cobalt said. Mel didn’t believe him and she doubted Agate did, either, but for once Cobalt was trying to be diplomatic. He invited Agate to share wine with him after the general had a chance to change his riding clothes. It was an accepted protocol for receiving messengers, to offer succor before requesting the message, and Agate expressed appreciation. Mel wasn’t fooled. None of them wanted to be here.

  As Cobalt and Agate spoke, Mel concentrated on the mosaics in the ceiling. The geometric shapes were too far away and too small to give much power, but she managed a faint green spell. Anything more could create a problem; her spells manifested as light, which tended to upset people. Only the barest green shimmer gathered in the air, faint enough to blend into the sunshine slanting through the emerald-glass skylights in the ceiling.

  Agate’s dread snapped against her mood spell like a hard blow on a drum skin.

  Cobalt watched Mel pace in front of a tall window in the Hexacomb Alcove. It troubled him; he rarely saw her so tense.

  “What did you pick up from Agate?” he asked.

  “He’s afraid,” Mel said.

  He shook his head. “Agate isn’t afraid of anything. Except my grandfather.”

  She glanced at him. “He fears you.”

  Surely not. But Cobalt could never be certain. Although he had known Agate all his life, he had little idea what the general thought of him. When Cobalt had been small, Agate had stood by while Stonebreaker whipped his grandson. Yet sometimes after the king locked Cobalt in a closet, Agate brought him food or water. The general had risked repercussions even with that; if Stonebreaker had found out, he could have broken Agate, imprisoned him, even executed him. Stonebreaker commanded the loyalty of his army because he was an intelligent leader and savvy in politics, but his top people knew his cruelty. Most had chosen to protect themselves rather than intercede on behalf of a crying boy. Cobalt gritted his teeth. They had stood by and watched a hardened warrior batter a helpless child. He wondered if they had really understood that someday that beaten, angry boy would be their king.

  “Why does Agate fear me?” he asked.

  Mel kept pacing, agitated and unsettled. “His emotions aren’t simple. More than anything, he is cautious.”

  “About me?”

  “Yes. He has bad news, I think.” She came over to him. “But his wariness of you goes deeper than that.”

  Cobalt grimaced. “Everyone feels that way about me.”

  She took his hand and pressed her lips against his knuckles. “You condemn yourself for the sins others committed against you.”

  He watched her, as bewildered today as on the first day he had met her. She married him to stop a war. After Cobalt freed his father from prison, Varqelle began to raise an army so he could invade Harsdown and reclaim his throne. Desperate to stop the invasion, Mel had agreed to wed Cobalt and bring the throne back into his line. She ought to hate him. Yet she treated him with a softness no one had ever given him before, and she never broke, never splintered, never shrank away. He didn’t understand why she loved him, but he never wanted her to stop.

  “I will remember your warning,” he said.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “Yes.” Idiot, he told himself. You can do better for her. He tried to smile. It pulled the muscles of his face in ways that felt strange but had become more natural this year. He could think of nothing to say, though, that wouldn’t sound foolish. After a moment of trying to smile, he gave up.

  Mel laughed tenderly and touched his cheek. “You have a dimple, you know.”

  He stared at her, aghast. “Warriors do not have dimples.”

  “I’m sure not.” She took his arm. “We should go meet our guest. He must be done freshening up.”

  In Cobalt’s experience, men didn’t “freshen up.” Still, Agate was probably making himself more presentable.

  “Very well,” he said. “Let us see what he has to say.”

  Braces covered in gold leaf supported the arched ceiling in the Ivory Room, and mother-of-pearl filigree gleamed on the walls. The pale furniture was upholstered in ivory and gold. Cobalt, Mel and Agate sat in armchairs by graceful tables where they could place their goblets. The beauty of the room only increased Mel’s disquiet, for none of this belonged to them. They had stolen it from Prince Zerod. She had never wanted to conquer Shazire. Even though she knew this land had once been part of the Misted Cliffs, the war lay heavily on her conscience. She dealt with it by being the best leader she knew how to be, but it didn’t lighten the weight.

  Mel spoke to Agate with courtesy. “Is the vintage to your liking, General?”

  He sipped his wine. “It speaks well of your wineries.”

  Cobalt downed his wine in one swallow and clunked the goblet on the table. “So.” His deep voice jarred with the genteel room. “How is my grandfather?”

  Agate spoke carefully. “I bring you news, sire.”

  “What?” Cobalt asked.

  Mel inwardly groaned. If Cobalt couldn’t learn more tact, he would antagonize even his allies.

  “I have news of your grandfather,” Agate said. “He is ill, Your Majesty.”

  Cobalt visibly stiffened. “What happened?”

  “His doctors say a blood vessel burst in his brain.”

  Cobalt stared at him in shock, an emotion he almost never revealed. His lapse lasted only a moment; then his mask of impassivity snapped back into place.

  “Is he alive?” Cobalt asked.

  Agate took a deep breath. “He survived. But his left side is paralyzed. We don’t know if he will recover.”

  Cobalt fell silent. Mel knew he hated his grandfather, and yet, he had also craved Stonebreaker’s approval his entire life. The conflicts of his tormented relationship with the king had left deep wounds. He was recovering here, but she had no idea what it would do to him if Stonebreaker died. Would he grieve or rejoice—or hate himself for doing both?

  Mel spoke to Agate. “We are sorry to hear of His Majesty’s illness and pray for a full recovery.”

  Relief flickered in Agate’s eyes. “The people of the Misted Cliffs share your prayers.” To Cobalt, he said, “We honor the House of Chamberlight.”

  Cobalt’s voice went cold. “The way you honored the Chamberlight Heir while you watched him being beaten senseless?”

  Agate looked as if he felt ill. “It was no honor, sire.” In a low voice, he added, “It was a nightmare.”

  Mel froze, afraid of what Cobalt might do. Agate was the only one of Stonebreaker’s officers she had ever heard admit the truth. Of all the adults in Cob
alt’s life, only two had regularly sheltered him: his mother, Dancer, and a stable hand named Matthew Quietland. Dancer had taken Stonebreaker’s violence on herself by interceding when Stonebreaker abused the boy; Matthew had hidden Cobalt in the stables or even his home and borne the vicious brunt of the king’s rage when Stonebreaker couldn’t find his grandson.

  Mel spoke into the strained silence. “You have done well to bring us the news with such speed, General Cragland.”

  “I am sorry it isn’t better news,” Agate said, his face pale.

  “Yes.” Cobalt stood abruptly. “Good night.”

  Both Mel and Agate jumped to their feet, and Agate bowed deeply. Cobalt glanced at Mel, and she could tell he wanted her to come with him. Then he strode from the room.

  She spoke quietly to Agate. “Thank you, General.”

  “I deserve no thanks, Your Majesty.”

  The title disquieted Mel; she was the reluctant queen of Shazire and Blueshire. Would Cobalt soon rule the Misted Cliffs as well? It would make him the most powerful sovereign in the settled lands, similar to the legendary Dragon-Sun Queen in Taka Mal who had lived two centuries ago. She had allied with Jazid, and they had descended on Cobalt’s ancestors with their wild, fierce armies, severing Blueshire and Shazire from the Misted Cliffs.

  After Mel and Agate parted, she walked to the suite she shared with Cobalt, preoccupied with her thoughts. She knew the lure of the desert lands for Cobalt. Jazid and Taka Mal. It was more than righting the wrongs of an ancient war. Taka Mal and Jazid were prosperous countries. Taka Mal caravans were famous for precious silks, spices, pottery, and jewels, and its architects spread their exquisite works across the settled lands. Jazid had mines rich with ores and gems. How long before Cobalt turned his conqueror’s eye to those rich lands? When he spoke of his dreams of empire, it stirred a ferocity deep within Mel, the wildness of her ancestors. She didn’t want the temptations he offered, but she couldn’t deny the lure of that seductive power.

  Cobalt had once told her: If ever I go too far, pull me back. She didn’t know if she was capable of being the conscience of a tyrant. At his core, he was a profoundly decent man. But for all that he had controlled his darkness, it simmered within him.

  Waiting for a rebirth.

  2

  Topaz Queen

  Vizarana Jade, the queen of Taka Mal, felt great pride in her country. The sun beat down on a starkly beautiful land softened by green oases. Quaaz, its capital, was the oldest city in the settled lands, a place of spires, arches, and onion domes. Ancient lanes curved through its center, crowded with oxen-drawn carts, running children, and people on errands. Mosaics shimmered in stained-glass windows, around keyhole-shaped archways, and in columns that supported even the most modest houses.

  As her father’s only child, Jade had inherited the Topaz Throne. She intended to keep it, even in this country where most women had few rights. Her Topaz Palace rose above Quaaz, golden in the sunlight, a wonder of yellow stone surrounded by a great wall and protected by the Queen’s Guard, warriors unmatched in skill or aggression. Today, Jade sat at a long table in the Dragon-Sun hall with her top generals: Spearcaster, her senior advisor, a mentor she had known her entire life; Slate, the least emotional of her advisors; Firaz from the tempetuous Southern lands; and her hot-tempered cousin, Baz Quaazera, General of the Queen’s Army.

  “What I don’t understand,” Jade said, “is how the Atajazid D’az Ozar could sign a pact with Cobalt Escar and we didn’t know about it.” Although the atajazid was a king, his title translated into Ozar, Shadow Dragon Prince of Jazid. Either way, he ruled Jazid.

  “Prince Zerod took the message from Shazire to Jazid,” Baz told her. A large man with black hair, he was thirty-three, a year younger than Jade. Everyone expected her to marry him, but she kept delaying. Baz was like a brother, not a husband.

  “I thought Zerod was dead,” Jade said. “And why would he carry messages for Cobalt Escar?”

  Baz gave her one of his inimitable scowls. “Escar is holding Zerod’s wife and son prisoner.”

  “So Jazid signed a pact with Escar,” Jade mused.

  General Slate spoke. “It is more an agreement than a formal pact, Your Majesty.” He looked tired today. The decades hadn’t been easy on Slate; as he entered his sixty-fifth year, she worried that he might soon wish to leave the military. She would regret his loss, for she greatly valued his advice, his wisdom, and his even temperament.

  “What does the agreement entail?” Jade asked.

  “Jazid sent four hundred spearmen to support the Shazire army,” Slate said. “Three hundred forty-two survived the war. The message Zerod took to Jazid concerned them.”

  Jade didn’t know what to make of this news, which Jazid had tried to keep secret. Fortunately, her spies had discovered it, though it had taken them too long. She spoke wryly. “According to rumors I’ve heard, Cobalt Escar beheaded Zerod, raped and murdered the queen and hung Zerod’s son.” Tales of Cobalt the Dark were rife with such lurid details.

  “Well, hell,” Firaz said. “Maybe he tore down the Jagged Teeth Mountains, too.”

  Jade smiled. “The last I looked, they were still there.”

  Spearcaster, eldest of her generals and the one she trusted most, spoke in his gravelly voice. “Apparently Cobalt has done nothing worse than put Zerod’s family under guard in their summer palace. In return for their safety, Zerod carried the message to Jazid.”

  “What was in the message?” Jade asked.

  Baz leaned forward, his fiery gaze intent. “Escar gave the Jazid spearmen a choice—swear allegiance to him or go to prison.”

  Bah. Cobalt obviously had ulterior motives. Making Zerod a courier sent another message to Jazid: Cobalt had effectively stripped the deposed ruler of his power. Allowing the spearmen to live implied Cobalt offered conciliation to Jazid, less than if he returned the soldiers to their country but enough to suggest he would consider neutral relations rather than conquest.

  Jade didn’t like it. Within one generation, Cobalt would rule the Misted Cliffs, Harsdown, Blueshire and Shazire. Jazid and Taka Mal had tried to achieve a similar outcome two hundred years ago, when they attacked the Misted Cliffs, but they had failed.

  “Cobalt and Zerod signed a pact,” General Spearcaster said. “Zerod swore not to seek military help from Jazid or Taka Mal. If he abided by the pact, then in two years he could go into exile with his wife and son.”

  Jade doubted Cobalt the Dark had suddenly developed great compassion. “Cobalt must have a motive.”

  “He probably assumed his business with Jazid and Taka Mal will be settled by then,” Slate said.

  Baz thumped the table with his palm. “If he expects to conquer us, he is a fool!”

  Jade frowned. “He would be mad to seek retribution for a war our ancestors waged over two hundred years ago.”

  “He’s mad all right,” Firaz drawled. “With ambition.”

  Slate’s voice was grim. “He will come after Jazid and Taka Mal, don’t doubt it.”

  “The hell with him,” Firaz said. “We’ll thrash his arrogant ass.”

  “General Firaz,” Jade said, smiling. “You are ever the soul of poetic converse.” He raised a curmudgeonly eyebrow at her.

  “Cobalt’s agreement not to attack Jazid was only valid for a year,” Spearcaster said. “That year was done six days ago.”

  “Did the spearmen swear allegiance to him?” Jade asked.

  “Over three hundred of them,” Slate said.

  Jade had hoped Escar was ignoring her country because he didn’t seek more lands. Her spies had so far found no indications that he planned on going to war again. But if he had held back only because of a temporary pact with Jazid, that could mean trouble.

  “How large is Escar’s army?” she asked.

  Baz nodded to Spearcaster, deferring to him for an answer. It didn’t surprise Jade. Spearcaster had studied the militaries in the settled lands for decades. Baz was in charge of th
e army, and Jade considered him an excellent leader. But if the position had been determined solely by merit, without royal heredity as a factor, Spearcaster would be General of the Army. He had twice Baz’s age and experience.

  “Including the Shazire forces he has gained,” Spearcaster said, “I’d say Cobalt Escar has more than eight thousand men.”

  Damn. She had only three thousand. Perhaps Cobalt expected Taka Mal to roll over for him. If so, his expectations were in for a battering. “And Jazid’s army?” she asked. “Four thousand?”

  “At least,” Spearcaster said.

  “Perhaps,” Jade murmured, “I should invite the Atajazid D’az Ozar here for a visit.” The time might have come to end their chill in relations. Ozar loathed having to deal with a woman on the throne, but a mutual and bellicose enemy might give them cause to unite.

  “It’s a good idea,” Baz said. “But even if we combine forces with Jazid, we still wouldn’t match Cobalt Escar’s forces.”

  “He may wish to avoid war,” Slate said.

  “He damn well hasn’t so far,” Firaz told him.

  “He did, actually,” Slate said. “He married the heir to the throne of Harsdown rather than attack her country for it.”

  “If we must fight this Escar king,” Jade said, “then we will. But we should bargain first.”

  “Bargain with what?” Baz demanded.

  “We need leverage,” Jade said. “Someone in his family.”

  Spearcaster went very still. “You are talking about a hostage pact.”

  “Of course.” It was a time-honored form of negotiation. In centuries past, sovereigns had regularly taken hostages from their enemies and negotiated peace for their release. Jazid and Taka Mal had avoided several wars that way.