by Aaron Pogue
My heart beat once, then I turned in place and threw myself from the balcony.
8. The Lord of Cara
It was not as reckless a maneuver as the one I'd attempted in our tower. Perhaps the balcony here was higher than my room's window, but my target was more substantial than empty air. Instead I aimed for the balcony next door, outside the room Caleb was in. It was barely three paces away, and desperation gave me strength. I jumped to the banister and kicked off hard.
But my boots slipped on the sea-slick stone. I stretched my arms and crashed hard against the railing of the next room's balcony. Sculpted stone drove the breath from my lungs, but I focused through the pain to grab at the wide stone rail. I saw Jen's startled face for an instant among the curtains, heard a quiet, angry bark from Caleb, and then my grip slipped on the stone, and I was falling again. I almost caught a grip on the narrow ledge at the base of the balcony, slowed just enough to spin my fall, and then I was staring down at the churning sea below.
And another balcony, one floor down. My right leg hit the top of the railing, sending a shock of hot agony flashing past my hip, but I kicked against the pain and threw my body into a lunge that spilled me over the rail. I heard a commotion above—not from Jen or Caleb, but from the balcony outside Mother's room. I saw the flash of the Green Eagles' uniform and heaved myself into a little roll beneath the curtains and into the room.
East wall on the second floor. I'd heard the king's nobles were stationed there. For all I knew, I might have landed in the king's own room. I scrambled to my feet and almost fell again at the new shock of pain in my shin, but after a moment my heartbeat slowed. My panic faded. I was in an empty room, dark and silent save for the occasional pop from a fire burning low on its grate.
I darted to the outer door and pressed my ear to the fine-grained wood. There was some bustle in the hall without, but no real sound of alarm. I stood for several long seconds, straining my ear, listening for the crash of boots pounding down the nearest staircase, or even shouts of outrage from the balcony above. When neither reached me, I began to relax. They'd obviously seen or heard something, but perhaps it hadn't been enough to really rouse their suspicions.
I turned in place and rested my shoulders against the door. I let my head fall back against it and focused on relaxing. My head ached from the tension in my jaw and temples, my shoulders and back from knotted muscles. I breathed in, slow and steady, and with each breath I relaxed a little more. My heartbeat slowed, and my mind cleared. It took more than a minute, but by the end of it I was calm as midnight and ready to make a plan.
Then a voice spoke out of the gloom. "For a moment there I thought you were him." He stopped short, then clucked once and said, "Haven's name, boy, I didn't mean to give you such a fright. Relax. Try breathing one more time."
The darkness moved, a shadow separating itself from the shape of a heavy-framed chair, and a tall, thin man stepped out into the crimson light of the dying fire. His eyes were deep-set and dark, his hands frail and spotted with age, but his dress was as fine as anything Mother owned. He held the same sort of authority in his eyes as well. He held out a trembling hand toward the chair he'd left. "Have a seat, please."
I didn't move. I did force a slow breath just to gain enough control to speak. "Who are you?" I asked.
"My name is Wilsid Doverlan. I am...I was a friend of your father's."
"You're with the king," I said and immediately regretted it. Everyone was with the king. Before he could answer I said, "I'm sorry. I did not mean to intrude."
He laughed. "You are your father's boy." He cocked his head for a moment, listening, then nodded to me again. "Please, accept my hospitality. You might find the reading nook even more comfortable than your own rooms. At the moment anyway."
He maintained a carefully blank expression, but I had no trouble guessing his meaning. I nodded gratefully, and he ushered me past the chair he'd occupied and through the wide doors into the inner room. He spoke a word and light flared, showing a room with a low, narrow bed, a single armchair, and a wide table.
There was no other furniture. There was no room. Every wall was packed with tall bookcases, filled with manuscripts bound in wood or leather. The table was stacked with more books. And there above the chair—
When he'd spoken light into existence, I had thought him a wizard. But now I saw the quiet globe of cold fire suspended in a sconce of air above the room's reading chair. Bright as day, and never-failing. Deeply familiar and utterly unique. It was my father's magic.
I looked around the room again, comfortable and well-used. And then back to the richly-dressed man who had welcomed me in. "You're the Lord of Cara," I said.
He smiled and gave me just the hint of a bow. "And you are Taryn Dragonprince. I'm honored to finally meet you. Now, if you will excuse me..." He stepped gracefully backward into the sitting room, pulling the doors closed behind him. A moment later I heard a knock on the outer door, heard him answer it. He spoke for some brief time in politely baffled tones while my heart hammered with worry, and then I heard the door fall shut again. A moment later, the lord returned.
"Apparently," he said, almost offhand, "there is some rumor of an intruder stalking the halls of my house. And me with the king himself enjoying my hospitality. My honor could be irretrievably stained."
I shook my head frantically. "My lord, I'm sorry. I assure you—"
He chuckled and spoke over me. "I'm sure it's nothing more than a rumor. I have nothing to fear, so long as the king's men do not find an intruder skulking about the halls."
I swallowed hard. "I was only trying...."
He smiled down at me, and I trailed off, confused.
"Your father would have found that quite funny," he said. "Forgive me. You reminded me so strongly of the boy, the way you burst in."
My jaw dropped open at that. "I did?" I tried to dredge up a memory of my father, the legendary hero who fashioned fortresses from his imagination and commanded an army of men and monsters. I remembered him strong and fast and always distracted. Always thinking. Always serious. Despite myself, I asked, "The boy?"
He laughed again. "Not from your perspective, I suppose. And they are long years since I saw him last. But some things never change. He was always leaping out windows and popping in unexpectedly."
"My father?"
The old man shrugged. "Of course, he generally had a dragon waiting to catch him out there. That, or it was a dragon chasing him in. But he was always just as panicked. Just as impetuous. And just as frightened of whatever was waiting on the other side of the door."
I fell back into the chair, staring up at him. "No, that's not right. He was a...general. He was practically a king. He didn't run and hide."
The old man smiled. "Your father became a general. And something like a king. I like that turn of phrase. But he did it almost entirely by accident. It...happened to him."
"But they all say he was a hero."
"Oh, he was a hero," the old man said. "Even more a hero, really, because he never truly believed he was a leader of men. He made his name as one man, alone, against impossible enemies. And no matter what he became, he never lost that attitude. He had armies at his beck and call, yet he still tried to do everything on his own."
"Caleb would have hated that," I said.
"Hah! Indeed. But Caleb admired him for it, too."
"Everyone admires him," I grumbled.
The old man leaned forward. "Do you know how I met your father? Have you ever heard that story?"
I cast back. "No. I'm sorry, I barely knew there was a Cara. All the stories I know take place in dragon lairs or around the Tower."
"I envy your memories," he said. "I suspect those are the far more interesting tales, and I probably only know a tenth part of them. But mine is not such a dull story for all of that."
"Then tell me," I said. "How did you meet my father?"
Instead of answering, he stepped back into the sitting room and dragged the other ch
air through the door. He placed it opposite me and sank down into its cushions.
He pressed back, eyes closed, and let out a long sigh. "It was...twelve years ago? Fourteen, I think. Yes. After the rebellion, after the dragonswarm began. They did not come to Cara."
"The rebels?"
"No. The rebels didn't come, but neither did the dragons. I eventually learned that the worst of them had a lair not forty miles down the coast, but they were bent entirely on destroying your father. They didn't even notice my city."
I nodded gravely. "You were lucky."
He chuckled. "Lucky indeed. But that only lasted so long. Daven took possession of the broodlord and killed a whole parcel of them, but the rest went wild. They knew better than to raid against the Tower, but there's nothing else on this coast until Whitefalls. Cara should have been burnt to ash."
"But Father saved you?"
"No," he said. "Not yet. Another man came. He appeared on my doorstep and begged an audience, promising he could protect me from the dragons."
"Really? Who?"
The old man frowned. "I still don't know who he was. I turned him away. At the time I had no idea what the rest of the world faced. I had no idea what your father had done to the broodlord. I only knew that Cara had gone untouched for more than a year while the rest of the world burned, and I had no reason to listen to some passing traveler."
I thought for a moment. "Was he a wizard?"
The old man smiled. "Why do you say that?"
"It's always a wizard. He's always turned away. And he always turns out to be right."
"Well...yes. On all three accounts, in fact, but it was not so much a story as that. I sent a steward to see him away, and he promised the steward I would come calling for him. Then that very night the dragons came."
My eyes went wide. "How many?"
"Dozens," he said. "I don't know. It was madness. The city burned. My guards fought as they could, but they were next to useless. In one night, I lost a thousand subjects and a third part of my city."
"Haven's name! Did you send for the stranger then?"
He smiled. "I did not have to. All night the dragons harried us, and then at dawn they were gone. And the stranger was waiting at my gate."
I shook my head. "What did he say?"
"He said he knew the dragons' secrets. He said he knew how to protect against them. He said if I would only trust him, he would keep me safe. If I would only pay him half my fortune, when it came right down to it."
"And did you?"
"I had him clapped in irons and thrown in the dungeons," the old man said. "The timing was too close. I set three questioners to learn what the charlatan knew."
"What did they learn?"
"Nothing," he said. "Nothing. That night the dragons came again, and it was worse than the night before. And when morning came, the stranger was standing at my gates again."
"But...you said he was in prison."
"He had been. But in the night he left. He left his questioners in his place. In pieces."
I shuddered, and the old man nodded. "He made the offer again, and this time I could not refuse. I gave him a place in this fortress, and he promised to keep the dragons away. I never saw how he did it—I never saw him do anything again—but the dragons did not return."
I frowned. "But what of my father?"
"Patience," he said. "You have to understand what had become of me. Of my town. For six months the world burned, but Cara went unharmed. We began rebuilding. We took in refugees from other cities, but the dragonlord insisted that we charge a heavy tithe for their protection."
"The dragonlord?"
"So he called himself. The dragonlord. And when I defied him, the dragons returned. Only one or two when I dared to argue with him, a full flight if I defied him outright. Soon the stranger was the true Lord of Cara. And I ruled only in name."
"But your city was safe?"
"My city was safe. My city was thriving. Lords and merchants came from hundreds of miles, and they paid whatever tax the dragonlord levied on them, to protect what else they owned. They brought a duchy's wealth into my walls, and they paid it gladly to the man who stood at my right hand. He reigned."
"How long?" I asked, beginning to guess the shape of the story.
"One year," he said. "Almost to the day. He reigned in my city while the dragons ravaged the countryside. But then, at the end, he began to grow agitated. He began to grow erratic. And one night he flew into a rage. Over the barest slight, he threatened doom on me and all my people. He roared like a monster and the dragons came, then and there, answering his call."
"He controlled them."
"Yes. And...no." He sighed. "That had to be the secret, didn't it? A man like your father, but bent on greed and power. I had done everything I could to hide from the truth, but deep inside, I had known it from the first. From the day I had him thrown in the dungeon."
"How did you survive?"
He smiled. "I met your father."
"Oh. But how? Where?"
He nodded back toward the sitting room, toward the outer wall. "I had retreated here. I had barred my door against the dragonlord's rage, though I never really believed it would help. I stood on my balcony and watched the fiery death dancing above my city. And then I realized there was more death than I had imagined."
I smiled. "Other dragons?"
"Just one," he said. "And not even a large one. A little black dragon. But it was fierce. It moved like a shadow among the others, tearing them to shreds. And while I was watching, fascinated, I saw a man upon the dragon's back. I saw the other dragons turning on him. I saw man and dragon overwhelmed. I saw him fall."
"My father?"
"Your father," he said. "I watched him tumbling toward the sea. But he was never destined for such a boring end."
"He was a great wizard," I said.
"A sorcerer, in fact," the old man said. "He stretched out his hand to the wind, and it caught him in its grasp. Even falling through the sky, he tucked his arms against his sides and aimed his head, and flew to my balcony like an arrow to the mark."
"He came to you?"
"He said I was the only light of life in all the palace. The servants and the guards had fled."
"And the dragonlord?"
"He burned more dark than human blood," the old man said. "Your father's words. The dragonlord was corrupted. He was not a dragonrider like your father or your father's men, bonded to and controlling one of the dragons. He was the opposite. He was a man, a wizard once, enthralled to a dragon's mind."
I shuddered, remembering my conversation with Caleb. That could have been my mother's fate. With a tiny voice, I said, "That's terrible."
"It was. For more than a year, I had welcomed something like a broodlord into my home. I had given a dragon control of my city, while its broodlings scoured the country all around me. I had made Cara into its lair."
"And Father rescued you?"
"Rescued me? He hid under my bed."
"What?"
The old man laughed. "I told you, didn't I? You remind me much of him."
"But he was a sorcerer and a great fighter. He was a dragonrider."
"He was a man. He had fought a flight of dragons with just his one. The dragonlord came to pound upon my door, just as the king's Green Eagle did a moment ago, and your father hid himself beneath my bed until the stranger went away."
"And then he took you away?"
"Oh, he was not concerned for me," the old man said. "I was just a man. In fact, he was rather furious with me. I was the lord of the city, and I had given it to this monster. Your father did not come to rescue me, but to rescue the city."
"How?"
"With...knowledge. He is famous for his skill with the sword. For his inhuman magic. For his army of dragons. But everything Daven accomplished, he accomplished with his mind."
"That sounds like something my mother would say of him."
The old man nodded. "He spent half an hour interr
ogating me. Mostly, I think, he was catching his breath. Then he nodded his gratitude and leaped from the balcony to the back of that same black dragon, still flying and dripping with the blood of its enemies."
"Eww."
He laughed. "Indeed. Then your father disappeared—"
I very nearly shouted. "He ran away?"
"And moments later the dragonlord came to batter down my door. He wrapped me in chains of air and dragged me to the front gates. He had half the dragons down out of the sky, then, gathered in a half-circle like an audience. And the dragonlord threw me in the middle of them and called me traitor. And then—"
"Then my father rescued you."
He smiled. "Yes. But in his own way. He was miles away from here, skulking through the shadows in some black cavern, while more than a dozen adult dragons readied themselves to burn me to ash. I saw the lightning dancing in the dragonlord's hands."
"And?"
"Deep in its lair, your father killed the true broodlord, the dragon controlling the wizard's mind. And that killed all the other dragons in its brood as well. In an instant, they fell all around me. The wizard, my dragon executioners, even the ones still patrolling in the skies. They crashed to earth already dead."
"How many?" I asked. It was an important part of these stories. "How many altogether?"
"With the wizard and the broodlord, there were thirty-nine," he said.
"Not even forty?"
"Not even forty," he said. "But your father always counted the wizard for more than a dozen."
I nodded. "That's more fitting. Such a tale needed fifty teeth."
"You know, Daven always said the same."
"You knew him, then? After that night?"
"I knew him. We were friends, as much as those dark times would allow. He protected my city as well as the dragonlord ever had, and he defended the rest of the land as well. He was a good man."