The Dragonprince's Heir

by Aaron Pogue

  I shook my head. "No. I don't...I didn't do anything. Your magic just fell apart."

  "That does not happen," Dellis sneered.

  "It's not my fault!" I turned back to the captain. "Would you really let the wizards take me?"

  Before the captain could answer, Dellis cackled. "You appeal to Captain Tanner? He's just a lawman. He can't defy the Academy."

  I did my best to ignore the wizard, but panic whined in my voice. "Captain?"

  He met my gaze with one of helpless pity. "It is a matter for my lord to decide."

  "I've...I've done no wrong," I mumbled. "I helped you."

  "And it will not be forgotten," he said. The wizard scoffed, but the captain ignored him and went on. "Just come quietly, and we will see it sorted out."

  Before I could protest more, before the wizard could sling new threats, the captain spurred his horse ahead, dragging me along in his wake. I fought for hours to calm my hammering heart.

  If the apprentice hadn't mentioned Seriphenes, I might not have been so afraid. I still had no idea what had happened with his magic, but I might have enjoyed a visit to the Academy. Though I knew my father had studied there, Father had never spoken of it much. Still, for everything he'd accomplished, he must have had admirers and friends there.

  But Master Seriphenes was the opposite. A vision swam up in my mind, crafted entirely from a child's imagination: a towering giant, gaunt and pale and crackling with malevolent magic. He had tortured my father in some dark prison. He had challenged him at the Tower's gates. He had set the king against us.

  And this shadowy Dellis was his apprentice. I shivered at the thought. There had been another apprentice once, the spoiled lordling Archus who had tried to feed my father to a dragon. How much of that had been the master's will? How much of the story was dramatic fancy? If even a fraction of it were true, my father's name could be my doom.

  Had I given it at all? No. I'd only claimed to be from the Tower. If I could keep my identity concealed, perhaps Seriphenes would pay me no mind. I'd hoped to find as warm a reception from the Lord of Tirah as I'd gotten from the Lord of Cara, and that would be difficult without naming my heritage.

  But I had done no wrong. That would have to be my best defense. I would go before this lord with quiet humility, offer testimony against the bandits who'd beset me, and apologize for any trouble I had caused. With luck and a shred of mercy, I could be free by midday, purchase new supplies in the city, and be ready to go home again by sunset.

  Sunrise came and went while I was considering these things, and by the light of day I remembered the quiet escort on our flanks. The captain's men were careful and they knew the land, but I caught glimpses of them from time to time, and they always looked alert.

  A cloud of dust trailed after us, too, where the captain's other force followed with the bandit crew. We had left them far behind, pressing as hard as we were, and I saw a frown touch the captain's mouth when he noticed. He didn't slow his pace.

  We still were not on any road, moving over rolling hills tall with wild grass. An hour after dawn we topped a wide rise, and there below was the mighty city of Tirah. The paved Whitefalls Road cut across the plains straight as a razor's edge to east and west. The city sat bisected on that road, a perfect square penned in by high stone walls.

  And here, just as at Cara, I saw the stains of the last ten years. The road and walls alike were scorched black in uneven splotches. The farmlands outside the city walls grew wild now, the grasses high and healthy, but the farmhouses scattered here and there were all burned down to ash and stone.

  Yet unlike Cara, Tirah had no missing blocks, no streets still halfway through rebuilding. From our vantage we could see inside the walls, and by the look of it the dragons hadn't ever done much damage there. Above the city, bands of blue and gold hung in the air, miles wide and woven out of wizards' power. A pang of homesickness stabbed me at the sight, for this was a trick they'd stolen from my father.

  "The monsters never burned Tirah," I said.

  "Only at the very first," the captain said. "And, no, not much. The wizards served us well."

  "Indeed," Dellis said from his other side. "And now your lord will have an opportunity to remember it."

  "Your service to my squad will be remembered, too," the captain said. "Now shut your mouth, if you would. I grow tired of your threats."

  Anger flashed like fire in the wizard's dark eyes. He directed it all at me, though I had said nothing. But he held his tongue, and after a moment the captain gave a satisfied nod.

  "I have been too long on the road," the captain said. "Let us end this."

  As we descended the broad slope, the captain's men emerged from the tall grasses and came to join us. Nearer the city's gates, a band of riders came to meet us, too. They wore the livery of the Lord of Tirah on loose tabards over heavy chain armor. At a gesture from the captain, the new arrivals fell in around us, swelling our escort until we approached the city as a force two dozen strong.

  The wizard slipped farther and farther away as new riders joined us, and he disappeared down an alley almost as soon as we passed the gates. It took me only a moment to guess what he was up to. He meant to send a message to Seriphenes and bring him down upon me. Would he use a rider or a pigeon, or could he contact the Academy through magic? Magic seemed most likely.

  But there was no question of escape for me. The captain and I rode at the heart of this knot of guards, and I was still tied by a lead to his horse. I had no choice but to follow him. And as we made our way toward the palace atop the city's modest hill, we gathered a rolling crowd of spectators. They spoke among themselves, passing rumors and growing more excited as we went. I heard someone say, "Old Jim's crew," and another, "Caught at last."

  I recognized their misunderstanding a moment before someone threw a stone. I had enough slack in my bonds to duck, and the fist-sized rock just missed my head before smashing into the captain's armored chest.

  He reined up hard and bellowed, "Who threw that stone? Sergeant, catch that man!"

  Someone in the crowd shouted, "Make the bandit pay!"

  The captain hesitated for a moment, looking past the thick knot of soldiers to search the crowd, then he sighed. "Fall back a bit, men. Let's show them this prisoner of ours."

  "No!" I called under my breath. "They think I belong to Old Jim's crew."

  He ignored me, heeling his horse forward, and the other guards parted to make way for him. I called after him in objection. He ignored me. I tried to back my horse against the taut lead, but he obeyed his rein.

  The captain led me forward then caused his horse to trip lightly off to the side, so I sat all alone before the crowd. I could taste the angry resentment in the air. These were not soldiers or lawmen, they were ordinary folks. They were craftsmen and traders. But by they look of their faces, every one among them was prepared to become an executioner.

  Some held stones, some had brought hammers or knives, but even the empty-handed looked ready to do violence. For one terrible moment I sat utterly exposed before them. I couldn't catch my breath to shout my innocence. I was going to die at the hands of a mob.

  Then the captain cried out, "Behold! A little boy! And he has a guard in escort for every summer he's seen." His tone turned cold. "We have him well in hand. You lot clear out."

  The same man who'd shouted before stepped up now. "We heard where you caught up Old Jim, Captain."

  The captain nodded back toward the city gates. "Aye, that I did, and those filth'll be coming along in an hour or so. Why don't you find some rocks with nice jagged edges while you're waiting? Just don't hit any of my men."

  Shocked laughter rippled in the crowd, and the captain smiled down on them. The smile didn't touch his eyes. He gave them a few seconds, then called a loud, "Hup!" and heeled his horse forward. Our audience parted for us, and as we started back up the broad way, the captain's soldiers flowed forward to surround me once again.

  We went half a mile before I
stopped shaking. Then I went forward to shout at the captain. "Will they really cast stones at bound prisoners? Will you really allow it?"

  He glanced at me, his expression grim. "Old Jim's crew has earned a terrible reputation. The people cry out for justice."

  "And that's a stoning in the streets?"

  "Listen, child. We have not all been so blessed as your people in the Tower. Hard times need hurried justice."

  Dumbstruck, I sat and stared after him until the leather lead dragged me forward once again. Hurried justice. Was that what I should expect from the Lord of Tirah? Perhaps I would need to use my father's name after all. Especially if Dellis were already in contact with Seriphenes. It might be my only hope: win the lord's mercy and get out of town before the wizard could make his demands.

  There was little time to find another plan. Word had clearly gone on ahead, because the guards waiting on the palace gates sent us right through into a wide, dusty courtyard. As the palace gates clanged shut behind us, the rest of our escort melted away until the captain and I alone stood at the foot of the wide marble steps.

  He dragged me from my saddle, my hands still bound, and saw me steady on my feet. He left the horses standing, left the gear in their bags, and pushed me on ahead of him up the steps to the towering doors.

  Guards waited at the door. Guards lined the long halls beyond. Guards were everywhere, heavy with sharpened steel and every bit as serious and alert as any sentry Caleb ever trained. This palace looked more like a prison from inside, crawling with stern-faced wardens.

  The captain seemed comfortable there. He breezed past the great doors and down the broad corridor that ended with another pair of doors open on a cavernous throne room. Even from the far end of the corridor I heard the loud noise of government as a rumble and chatter in that chamber.

  The captain stopped at a side passage halfway down the corridor. I glanced in and saw shadowy stairs climbing up to another floor. He tried to lead me that way, but I dug in my heels and leaned away. He dragged me a full pace across the marble floor before he turned.

  "Come along."

  I shook my head, a little frantic. "No. You...you brought me to see the Lord of Tirah. Take me before him."

  "Hah. Not like this. You look like a pig farmer. There are rooms upstairs where you can clean up before—"

  "I don't have time for that," I said. "Let me see him now."

  The captain's eyes narrowed in new suspicion. "Why?"

  I didn't dare press the case. It might seem I had some guilty secret to conceal. I thought fast and raised my chin in haughty defiance. "I am tired of these bonds. I am tired of this whole affair. Show me to your lord that he may set me free."

  "You would make a better case in cleaner clothes."

  "I don't need such...such frivolous dressings. I am the honest son of a noble man. I have nothing to fear."

  "You look like desert trash. If you truly want him to hear your plea—"

  I could feel the precious seconds slipping away. I cut him off as coldly as I could. "Thank you, Captain, but I have tolerated this treatment as long as I intend to. If you must take me before your lord then do it now, or I will force the issue."

  "Oh, wind and rain, child, consider your situation."

  I couldn't stop considering it. I threw a fearful look back down the corridor, wondering if Dellis might come bursting through the outer doors at any moment. Heart hammering, I shook my head and met the captain's eyes. "No! Let your lord see just how mistreated I have been within his lands."

  The captain opened his mouth to argue more, but he must have seen the determination in my eyes. After a moment he shrugged and let me go. I turned and strode, feet flashing, down the broad corridor lined with stone-faced guards. He came along far enough to get me past the guards at the door to the throne room, and I left him there.

  Still posturing tall and proud, I went three paces down an expanse of rich green carpet that stretched to a golden throne before I really registered the scene in the room. Then I stopped dead. There must have been more than a thousand courtiers in the hall, and it was barely half full. Servants held positions along the outer walls, ready to rush to the assistance of any of the lords or ladies waiting in attendance on the Lord of Tirah.

  I had seen gatherings as large in the great hall of the Tower, but those were soldiers and craftsmen. These were truly lords and ladies, wearing their proud authority every bit as real as the courtly finery. A thousand powdered faces turned to consider me.

  I stank of sweat and soot and mud. I must have looked half-dead and already buried once. Fear and doubt climbed up the back of my throat, and I had to swallow hard. Before I could find my voice, the crowd parted before me with hushed whispers.

  They revealed an imposing figure on the throne. He looked nothing like them. He wore a black patch over one eye and the heavy armor of a Green Eagle instead of any finery. He was old—at least as old as Caleb—but looked hard as a gnarled root and still thick with muscles. This was their duke? He would have been right at home in the Tower.

  But now he leaned forward in the throne, one elbow on his knee, and narrowed his good eye to scowl at me across the distance. He took me in with one glance, and shouted across the room, "Guards! Stop this intruder!"

  Something heavy and solid hit me from behind, smashing against the base of my skull, and I went down hard.

  A boot between my shoulder blades ground my ribs against the floor. Then I heard the measured tread of steps behind me. The captain who had brought me here called politely, "Your pardon, my lord. I have brought my charge all this way only to lose rein of him at your doorstep."

  I craned my neck to read the expression on the lord's face. It softened as he looked on my escort. "Ah, Captain Tanner. Rumor claims you have apprehended the notorious Old Jim, but you bring me this child?"

  I struggled vainly against the boot pinning me to the ground. "I am not a child! I am a citizen of the Tower of Drakes!"

  The imposing lord arched his brows at me. He gave a curt gesture with one hand. One of the guards knotted a fist in the collar of my shirt and hauled me roughly to my feet. The lord said, "Indeed? And how did a citizen of the Tower come into your power, Captain?"

  "He was one of Old Jim's victims, my lord. Swindled on the road, robbed, and left to die."

  The lord smiled. "And you bring the poor victim to me in bonds?"

  "I apprehended him in the commission of a violence, my lord. And there were...irregularities."

  "Such as?"

  The captain avoided my eyes as he passed. He approached the foot of the throne and dipped a brief bow, then reached beneath his cloak and brought out my sword. An involuntary growl rumbled in my throat as he raised the scabbarded weapon toward his lord like an offering. He made it a gift.

  I strained against the two men holding me, but a vicious backhand sent me reeling. The guard growled after me, "Be still, you."

  "No, no," the Lord of Tirah called. "Bring him forward now. Haven's name! This is an irregularity."

  He held my sword now, turning it this way and that to catch the light on its strange blond blade. I fought down my outrage and offered him a bow. "Lord of Tirah. I bring you the compliments of the Tower of Drakes."

  He grinned. "Do you really? I can assure you, Tirah sets great store by the compliments of your pile of rubble."

  A quiet laughter rolled around the room. I looked back at all the mocking faces and couldn't quite suppress a frown of annoyance. "I...I'm sorry, my lord, but I do not know the customs of your court."

  "I'm not your lord," he said. "Call me Grand Marshall."

  "Oh. Of...of course, Grand Marshall. I do not wish to be any trouble in your land."

  He waved that away. "This burning land is nothing but trouble." I had no answer for that, but he wasn't looking for one. The Grand Marshall leaned back in his throne, staring down at me with the one malevolent eye. His face was a mess of scars, terrible to behold, and the hand that carelessly flourished my father
's blade was burnt to a black char, but still it managed a sure grip. He leveled the sword's point at me and asked offhand, "Where did you find this blade?"

  "It was a gift from my father, the Lord of the Tower."

  "Be careful how you boast, boy," the Grand Marshall said. "There is no lord of that tower."

  I spread my hands in humility and said, "I am Taryn Eliade, son of Daven Dragonprince."

  A noisy murmur disturbed the crowd at my pronouncement My attention went to the captain, though, who'd gasped louder than all the rest.

  The captain was watching me with the same resigned pity he had shown when Dellis threatened me. He wouldn't meet my eye. Instead, he turned an ashen face to the throne. "I did not know, Grand Marshall! He never gave his name."

  The Lord of Tirah waved him to silence. "He is clearly lying. Daven had no son."

  My stomach sank. "But...why this outrage? Is it so great a crime to be the Dragonprince's heir?"

  "There is no Dragonprince!" the Grand Marshall snapped. "This land has just one king."

  "It's only a name they use," I said. "But he was a hero—"

  The Grand Marshall pinned me with his gaze. "Daven Carrickson was a rebel and a murderer."

  "What?" I shouted. "No. He was a hero."

  "If you say those words one more time, I'll carve your tongue from your mouth." He said it with a dreadful calm.

  I could only stare.

  The Grand Marshall considered the sword again, until his focus shifted to something far away. Then he said quietly, "Let me tell you a story about this Dragonprince. I met him when he was just a little older than you. Living on some goodman's charity and spending all his waking hours practicing at swords so he could seek some vengeance for his father's lawful execution."

  I reeled at that. "I...I'd heard he was a shepherd?"

  "Hmf. He pretended to it, but when the king sent me to fetch him, he fought like a trapped rat. Three days later on the road to Souport, he cut down a Guardsman in cold blood."

  I bit back another cry of disbelief. The Grand Marshall spoke these slanders as though they were common knowledge, barely interesting, but a deep hatred burned in his eye. I doubted he would tolerate any kind argument at all, so I held my tongue.