"Why haven't I been told of this?" the King roared. "Because I knew nothing of it," Joss responded.
"Nor am I sure I believe it!" "Gentlemen," Jagd said quietly, "please let me explain. These are very late troop movements, and the news has only this afternoon come to me. As you know, we merchants are often able to see and hear things government agencies have no way of discovering." Talith and Joss both resented this dig so characteristic of a merchant, but they knew, too, that it was true. Neither replied.
"It is to your advantage that I feel your cause so strongly," Jagd continued. "When you are backed by a merchant house, your intelligence problems are cared for. All that remains is the organization of fleets and battalions." "I take it, then, that you counsel war," Talith said quietly.
"What other course is there?" Jagd asked. Kherda's heart leapt into his throat. This merchant was playing right into his hands. Unless of course Ligne had already- "And my little girl? What of her?" Talith growled.
Jagd shrank down in his chair and shrugged helplessly. "I'll do all I can. But don't you see that Lamath is simply baiting you by stealing your daughter? They obviously feel themselves strong enough to conquer you, or they would not have troubled with so careful a plot." "Lamath!" Talith shouted, and on his lips the word became a curse. He stood and paced a moment, then pointed at Jagd. "It's that Pelman who has planned this! He's an agent of Lamath, I know he is!" Jagd's eyes glowed. Obviously Talith hated the player. Perhaps Pelman's interference could somehow be turned to an advantage. "I do know this," Jagd intoned quietly. "When Pezi reached his uncle's house in Lamath-Pelman was no longer with him." "That's it! He is masterminding this whole plot against me! Why, even now he is probably moving brigades into position for a mountain invasion! Kherda!" "Yes, my Lord." "I want a list of every available militia unit we can bring under arms! I want every merchant vessel outfitted with battle rams and grappling hooks, with crews of trained marines posted to each! I want supplies to feed, clothe, and arm the greatest fighting force to march since the days of the last great rebellion!" The audience of counselors leaned forward in their seats to watch the climax of the King's speech, and Talith rewarded them with a worthy performance. Legs spread wide in a wrestler's stance, he raised a fist to the ceiling and followed it with his eyes. "I am a man of peace. But the throne of Chaomonous is a sacred trust, and an heir to that throne is the spirit of the golden land itself! Shall I stand idly by while the spirit of my nation is stolen away in the night? No! Let Lamath throw its best at me, I will have my Bronwynn back! To war! Any man who pleads for peace is no Chaon!" The audience burst into wild applause, and the King nodded his head slightly to show his appreciation of their support.
Kherda gathered his papers together and spread them on the lectern for the sixth time. His relief knew no bounds.
Pelman patted the powerful flanks of Minaliss and rubbed the animal's ears. "Seems rested enough," he said.
Dorlyth grunted. "Good horse. Merchants usually ride the best. You have provisions enough?" Pelman looked at the packhorse, heavy-laden with food and goods, and grinned. "No room to carry anything else." Dorlyth waved his hand, dismissing this contribution.
"Just want you to be prepared." Pelman reached out and put a hand on each of Dorlyth's shoulders. "You'll do as I've asked?" "Let me see. I'm to go on about my business until Tohn arrives. When he comes I welcome him like an old friend and let him inspect the keep, the village, and the entire surrounding area. I delay him by making him stay for a feast and then I point him toward the south." "What I'm asking is, will you do it?" "Of course," Dorlyth said, smiling. "You don't think I want to get involved in this business, do you?" "Just see that you don't." "And as for my son-" Dorlyth hesitated.
"Yes?" "Just teach him-anything. Tell him your funny tales about the foundation of the kingdoms." "You always laugh when I speak of that," Pelman smiled.
"So will he, if he has any sense. But tell him all the same." "T-t-tell me what?" Rosha asked, coming up behind them.
Dorlyth turned around to get a good look at the boy. He was dressed warmly against the chill of the morning in a fur cap and warm bearskin coat. He carried the ever-present greatsword over his shoulder. Dorlyth clapped him on the arms, and forced a grin. "What's in here?" he asked, thumping his son's chest.
"The c-ch-chain mail vest, and it's h-h-hot!" "You wear it to bed, boy!" Dorlyth ordered.
"You gave him your vest?" Pelman asked.
"Why should I need it?" Dorlyth shrugged. "I'm to invite my enemies to a feast, remember? Ahhh!" he smiled, looking past the other two. "The lady." "I don't look much like a lady," Bronwynn growled through teeth clenched against the cold. "And I don't feel much like a lady, either. It's still dark outside. Why are we leaving now?" "For just that reason," Pelman said. "Here, a gift from Dorlyth." Pelman wrapped a furry cloak around the shivering girl's shoulders.
"Thank you, Lord Dorlyth," she said sweetly. "It's refreshing to find that someone in this land knows how to make a lady feel respected." Dorlyth noted the sharp look she shot at Pelman, and looked away, scratching his beard. "Yes, well, marriage does teach some things. Rosha." "Y-y-yes, sir?" "You ready, my boy?" Rosha nodded. Dorlyth felt his mouth suddenly go very dry, and under his beard his cheeks began to warm. "Good. Be off with you then." Rosha waited a moment, then turned to mount his horse. "I'll give you a hand; boy," Dorlyth said quietly, stooping to grab hold of the lad's boot, but he grabbed Rosha instead, and hugged him hard. Though he fought to blank his mind, he could not help but remember sending Rosha's mother off so many years before. He jerked his son around to face him and stared into his eyes. "You survive, you hear me? What good is a dead hero, hmm?" Rosha stared at him, then the boy's lips turned up in a grin that Dorlyth's face answered with another. "Good riding, my boy. Come back." Dorlyth clapped Rosha on the shoulders again, and stepped out of the way. "Well, go on!" he grunted, and Rosha mounted his sleek black war-horse.
"What about my falcon?" Bronwynn asked Pelman, and Dorlyth welcomed the chance to interrupt.
"It's on its way, my Lady. I already gave the order to bring it." "Dorlyth, a falcon?" Pelman complained. "This is no meadow outing!" "This is no foolish bird, either! It's a hunting falcon, and you're going to take it," Dorlyth said, and Bronwynn smiled gleefully. Pelman said nothing, but mounted Minaliss. The falconer finally arrived, out of breath, and handed the leather glove and the falconet to a delighted Bronwynn.
"Just remember, my Lady, we'll be riding very hard for the next two weeks," Pelman said.
"I can ride with the best in Chaomonous," Bronwynn snapped back. "I can surely ride with you two." She mounted her brown pony and tossed her head proudly, then kissed the hooded bird. "I thought you were in a hurry?" she snapped tartly. Wheeling her mount, she made swiftly for the stable door. Pelman jerked around to follow her.
"You see why I'm sending the boy?" Dorlyth called as Pelman and Rosha thundered after her and out into the dark sky of the early morning. "She's too much for you, powershaper!" Rosha smiled through the tears that had somehow crept onto his cheeks. He liked the feeling of his father's laugh following them into the night.
Dorlyth walked to the stable door and watched the little group disappear toward the south. Pelman would continue southward to the nearest stream, then would follow the path of the water to the west and turn north once again. He would probably leave a number of confusions to divert Tohn. It was a pity to waste all that good magic. But it couldn't be helped. Tohn would never have the chance to be fooled by those illusions, if Dorlyth had his way.
"What of the fire summons?" he said quietly to the falconer who flanked him.
"Issued it last night from the greater tower, while you were at game." Dorlyth winced. "It was a sacrifice, believe me." "Did he beat you badly?" The bird handler chuckled.
"Have you ever known me to win? But it will be worth it-if I can give them a good start. The warriors should be assembling by noon. What of provisions?" "We're not at siege standards by any means," the fa
lconer answered grimly. "But we could handle a hundred warriors for a week if the seneschal has figured correctly." "That should be enough." Dorlyth nodded. "And the blue flyer to the High City?" "I tossed the bird before lighting the signal fire. It should arrive in the high palace of Ngandib in an hour, depending on wind conditions." "So if that sloth on the throne chooses to read his mail today, he'll get my message." "He should, my Lord." Dorlyth sighed. "One can always hope." He patted the falconer on the shoulder and turned to walk toward the keep. "By the way," he said, hesitating, "would you check around in the armory and find me an old leather battle jacket? Just in case Tohn should get aggressive, you understand." "What of your famous mail shirt, my Lord?" the bird handler asked in surprise.
Dorlyth scratched his neck. "I guess I just outgrew it." "Is that it? Or did someone else grow into it?" Dorlyth smiled. "Are there no secrets in my keep? Come, there's much to do, and too little time to do it." The falconer closed the stable gate, and they planned defenses all the way to the greater tower.
* * * The dust hung motionless in the fetid depths of the cave. The dragon brooded in silence. The heads had never been able to agree on anything. Their bickering had finally worn them both out. Now the dragon fixed all eyes on the long road down into the southern valley, waiting for a caravan he knew was coming. He was hungry and hostile, and each head used the quiet to revile the other mentally.
An eternity passed in that murky den. The only noise was an occasional scrape of scales across stone as a head shifted position, or a low rumbling in the beast's giant belly, which impatiently awaited a meal. The entrance to the cavern was fifty feet up the sheer northern cliff face. By simply resting his heads on the rocky ledge that protruded porchlike from the opening, the dragon could see in any direction. He had spent many happy hours sunning his scaly skulls on this bone-littered shelf. That joy seemed dreamlike to the giant lizard now.
There. Movement far below him drew the attention of all eyes. Not a word was spoken between them, but the heads cooperated in squeezing the hulking body out of the mouth of the cave and lifting it gently into flight. The dragon settled to earth just as quietly. It took the better part of two hours for the caravan to reach him. Neither head spoke through the duration of its climb.
At the head of the caravan rode a young man clothed in the brilliant scarlet and dark purple of the world famous house of Uda. He was an experienced trading captain, having passed Dragonsgate twenty times and more, but not since his first passage had Tahli-Damen approached the beast with such trepidation. Jagd had informed him of the possibility of his meeting a mentally unbalanced dragon this trip. Since the dragon had never exhibited a great deal of coherence by human standards, Tahli-Damen expected the worst. There was a blue flyer seated on his shoulder, bound to him by a leather thong he had tied securely around his wrist. From one of the bird's feet dangled a tiny parchment on a string. In addition to the reins of his horse, Tahli-Damen clutched a stylus, for he had instructions to scribble a message describing the dragon's behavior on the parchment and to release the bird as soon as he had completed his bargaining. It all seemed highly unusual, but he had been forced to admit that these were unusual times. He often despaired of ever attaining the high position he dreamed of. If only the world would stand still a day or two! All he wanted was his chance to make it! His eyes were not good, so Tahli-Damen leaned forward, straining to see some expression on the dragon's faces. The beast seemed less playful than usual-more solemn. Vicia-Heinox appeared rooted in one spot, looking like one of the statues of himself that lined the boulevards of Lamath. As they climbed the last few hundred feet they were delayed by the normal number of fainting slaves. Since he was headed for Lamath, Tahli-Damen carried mostly Maris today. He preferred the runs to Ngandib-Mar. The country was nicer, and the Lamathian slaves carried on such trips were generally more relaxed at the sight of the beast and less resistant to being eaten. It had something to do with their religion. Some seemed even to appreciate Tahli-Damen's feeding them to the dragon-which did nothing to discourage the general opinion of all the merchant houses that Lamathians were a race of lunatics.
Now he heard a low growl emanating from the beast, and his heart fluttered uncharacteristically. Tahli-Damen had never heard Vicia-Heinox growl thus before. It was most unsettling. He suppressed his feelings, straightened himself in the saddle, and led his column to within twenty feet of those four gleaming eyes.
"Far enough," Vicia warned.
Tahli-Damen stopped his horse dead with a jerk on the reins. "Your Dragonship," he began, "I have brought you-" "I can see," Heinox snarled, cutting him off. Vicia swiveled slowly to eye his twin, and Tahli-Damen wished he had been more attentive while learning the subtleties of dragon expressions. It seemed incredible, but was that a look of hatred the heads had just exchanged? "I offer you the standard contract-" he began again.
Heinox interrupted. "No contract." "Of course a contract!" Vicia snapped. "Am I trying to destroy all my relationships?" "I am trying to establish new relationships-ones not subject to interference from any other head that might possibly occupy this body!" Heinox growled back.
"In other words, cutting the other head out?" roared Vicia.
"I'd prefer to cut the other head off!" screamed Heinox, and they were at it again.
Up and down the line, slaves were dropping like ripe apricots on a windy day. It wasn't from the heat, for there was a brisk spring breeze blowing up from the valley below them. It was the mere sight of those giant jaws snapping at one another above their heads, and those great, gleaming teeth- The man of Uda jerked the parchment down onto the saddle and began to scribble. The messenger bird squawked and beat at him with its wings, making writing extremely difficult. The canyon pass was filled with noise, what with bellowing dragon heads, the screaming slaves, and a shrieking bird, but he did manage to write his reports. He broke the band that held the bird to his arm. It shot into the air in a streak of azure.
Vicia-Heinox paused in mid-argument to watch it hurtle past, bound for the blue sky beyond the cliff tops. The dragon hung there in the air for a moment, while Heinox slid down to ask, "What was that?" "A-a messenger bird," Tahli-Damen replied.
The dragon thumped as he hit the ground with all four feet. "What for?" Vicia inquired.
The young rider cleared his throat. "There's been some talk that you have been acting-confused." "Confused!" Vicia snorted.
"I, confused?" Heinox chortled, but he stopped when he saw Vicia's dirty look. "I am not confused. Merely- out of sorts with myself." "Nevertheless," Tahli-Damen continued bravely, "the merchant families need some report on your condition, since it will certainly affect business. That bird bears my observations to the Council of Elders." "What did you say about me?" Vicia asked eagerly.
"Yes, what?" asked Heinox.
"Why, I told them the truth." "Which is?" Vicia asked again, edging down to look Tahli-Damen in the face.
"Yes, what is the truth?" Heinox put in.
"I've been having the most dreadful time deciding what the truth is, you see," Vicia went on pleasantly. "I haven't been able to put my talon on what it is, but I have the strong impression that things are just not the same anymore." "Things haven't been the same since that Pelman passed this way," Heinox growled, craning around to look west, as if he could see Pelman somewhere out there among the mountains of Ngandib-Mar.
"Yes," Vicia hissed loudly, teeth snapping together so angrily that the clash touched off a whole new wave of fainting down the line of slaves. "Since that time I haven't been myself. Am I myself?" Vicia suddenly asked Tahli-Damen.
Before the man could reply Heinox interrupted. "Of course I'm myself! I cannot believe that I would sink to such a state that I would ask a merchant who I am!" "I wish I could get it through my other head that I am not well! I need help!" Vicia yelled.
"Your Dragonship!" Tahli-Damen bellowed at the top of his lungs, hands cupped together before his mouth. It was a loud yell-loud enough to attract the attention of the arg
uing heads.
"Yes?" Heinox asked.
"What is it?" Vicia added, quite civilly.
"Perhaps I could offer you a bit of assistance in sorting this matter out." Tahli-Damen had visions of a promotion. To be the man who soothed the dragon and restored business as usual could open the door to the very Council of Elders itself.
"How?" Heinox sighed, his eyes lidding dangerously.
"It seems obvious," the man began, then paused to phrase it as delicately as he could, "that-ah-a rift has-ah-arisen in your relationship." "My relationship to what?" Vicia asked.
"To-ah-to yourself." "Myself? How could a crack appear in my relationship to myself? I'm me!" "Yes but-there are-two heads ..." "Oh, I see. It's because-" Vicia stopped. "What did you say?" Vicia's eyes were flashing.
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