When Dragons Rage

by Michael A. Stackpole

  So, the princess and her earthbound sister contented themselves playing chess in her chamber. They both agreed to play by Gyrkyme rules, which stated that the Gyrkyme piece—which could leap other pieces because it was airborne—could only be brought down by archers that shot along the board’s diagonals. That variation normally outraged players, but both of them had grown up using it, so it would have seemed unnatural to play any other way.

  A heavy pounding on the door interrupted their game. Even before Alexia could bid the caller to enter, the latch tripped and the door opened. Alexia had already moved from her chair and slid her sword from its scabbard, leveling it at the door.

  The slender, hatchet-faced woman standing there raised an eyebrow. “Prepared to spill your own blood, Alexia?”

  The princess did not lower the blade immediately. “Aunt Tatyana, I had no idea you were in Meredo. How did you get here?”

  The white-haired woman shrugged and flicked her cloak off. Before the dark woolen garment could hit the floor, one of the two huge men behind her caught it. Both of them wore the same black uniforms with white piping on the sleeves and trouser legs. Alexia did not recognize them, but knew their uniforms. The Crown Circle Guards were revered among the Okrans exiles and known for their devotion to the royal family in general and Grand Duchess Tatyana in particular. Had she ordered them to get her to the moon, they would have found a way and been quick about it.

  “My carriage until the snow, then a sleigh. We knew much snow in Okrannel, Alexia. It was no hardship.”

  “I suppose it was not.” The princess resheathed her sword in the scabbard hanging on the back of her chair, then pointed with her left hand to Perrine. “You remember my companion, Perrine.”

  The old woman looked the Gyrkyme up and down, as if viewing a dullard servant who had just broken a valuable dish. “Yes, of course. You are well?”

  “Yes, Grand Duchess.”

  “Splendid. You will leave us now.”

  Alexia snarled. “She is not a servant. She is my sister.”

  That comment brought an answering snarl to Tatyana’s thin upper lip, which was only calmed with apparent effort. “Your sister, indeed, child. Well, I need to speak with you, and I would save you the embarrassment of doing so before your . . . sister.”

  Peri just blinked her big amber eyes innocently and Alexia wanted to laugh. Anyone else would have withered under Tatyana’s frigid blue gaze, but Perrine paid her no attention. She would only leave if she desired to be absent, or if Alexia asked her to go. That her presence would irritate the Grand Duchess was ample inducement for her to want to stay.

  The princess shook her head. “Anything you say to me she will be told. I have no secrets from her.”

  Tatyana’s eyes widened for a moment. “None?”

  Alyx hesitated. She’d not told Peri about the Communion of Dragons, primarily because she could not. That inability to share did eat at Alyx a little, but if Peri noticed anything was wrong, she said nothing.

  Tatyana’s question was not directed at the Communion, however, but something the old woman found far more important. The Crown Circle, based on a vision Tatyana had had, decreed that every Okrans noble in exile should, at the age of fifteen, undertake a “dream raid,” in which they entered Okrannel and spent a night on their native soil. The dreams they had that night were viewed as having the clairvoyant power of the Norrington Prophecy. Raiders, when they returned to Yslin and the Crown Circle, were bid to share their dreams only with the circle of elders. For Alexia to have told Perrine about her dreams would have been a treason more serious than Crow’s in the eyes of her great-grandaunt.

  Alexia nodded slowly. “I share with her my heart, my mind, my hopes, and many of my dreams, but not all.”

  Tatyana appeared to be momentarily mollified. She raised a hand and one of the Guards entered the room, secured the chair Alyx had been using, then offered it to the Grand Duchess. She sat demurely, then looked up at her great-grandniece. “I came as soon as I heard the absurd claim that you have married this Crow. Who is he?”

  Alyx folded her arms across her belly and leaned back against the wall. “You met him in Yslin, Aunt Tatyana. The night of the reception for General Adrogans. The man who fetched me wine.”

  “Your servant? Alexia, how could you do that? He is not a noble; he is nothing. And then he turns out to be the Traitor Hawkins? He murdered your father, you know.”

  “He did nothing of the kind.”

  The old woman’s eyes became bitter. “You were barely alive then.”

  “And you weren’t at Fortress Draconis.”

  “No, but I was present when the world’s rulers learned what happened there. Only your father stood against a sullanciri. Hawkins could have saved him, but he ran. After your father died, he returned with the sword that slew the sullanciri, but it was too late. And he delayed, deliberately, because he hated your father for being all the things he could not be.”

  The venom in Tatyana’s voice shocked Alyx. She’d long thought of her great-grandaunt as bitter, but never before had she heard such vitriol coursing through the woman’s words. Tatyana had taken Prince Kirill’s death hard. But while she was a bitter woman, she had previously reserved her bile for those who stood between her and the plans to liberate Okrannel.

  Tatyana’s nostrils flared angrily. “Some will say he was but a child then. Others will excuse things because of the nature of the time or the sullanciri’s magick, but Hawkins himself said he regretted your father’s death. Had you heard him, Alexia, heard him then, not now—not after he has had a quarter century to practice his lies and justify things in his mind—you’d have known he regretted his actions at Fortress Draconis.”

  “Enough!” Alyx pushed off from the wall and slammed her closed fist on the table, making the chess pieces dance and topple. “I will not have you saying that of Crow. I will not have you saying that of my husband.”

  Tatyana’s eyes grew huge. “By the gods, Alexia, you are not carrying his child!” The old woman held a skeletal hand out toward her, the fingers clawed and trembling.

  “Enough, Aunt Tatyana, enough!” Alexia gave in to temptation and rubbed a hand over her belly as she had seen many a pregnant woman do. “If you came here to hector me, you’ve made a fine start.”

  The old woman’s voice did not soften, but shrank to a whisper. “I came here to remind you of your duty to your nation. You know, as do I, that when we liberate Okrannel—when you liberate our homeland—you will be placed on the throne. While our nation has prospered somewhat in exile, we both know that our resources are insufficient to allow us to rebuild. Svoin is gone, and re-creating it will bankrupt us. You, however, are the gateway to a dynasty. Your union with a Southlands princeling would bring us what we need to rise again.”

  Alexia laughed and Peri joined her, though softly. “Who would you have me marry, Aunt Tatyana? Linchmere? King Augustus has no eligible sons. Savarre might, but is too far away to trade; likewise for any nation save Saporicia, Jerana, and Gurol. The first two of them are without possibilities, and while Prince Joachim of Gurol is an option, Gurol is almost as poor as Okrannel.”

  Her aunt shook her head. “You overlook the obvious: Erlestoke of Oriosa.”

  “He remained behind at Fortress Draconis. His father says he is dead.”

  The old woman shrugged her shoulders. “Scrainwood is not all-seeing, Alexia.”

  Whereas you are? Alexia swallowed the barb. “And you think my being married to Crow will prevent a liaison? Erlestoke, praise the gods if he yet lives, has a lover and a child by her. Would that not make him even less desirable than me?”

  “Don’t be a silly girl, Alexia. You know the way of the world. Arrangements can be made. Annulments may be had.”

  Alexia let her violet eyes harden. “Very well, let arrangements be made, if I survive the war. If I liberate Okrannel.”

  Tatyana hissed and darted a hooded glance at Peri. “You will liberate Okrannel. You know that.
”

  A shiver ran down Alexia’s back. The emphasis in her great-grandaunt’s words took her back to her meeting with the Crown Circle after the dream raid. She had stood there and explained to them, in exquisite detail, the series of battles she would lead against Chytrine’s troops. She had told them of new warmages that she would field, and how the battles would run. She insisted she would be victorious and had impressed them all with her knowledge of warfare. They had taken heart in her dreams and in her skills, hence the hope of all Okrans exiles rested with her.

  “Yes, Aunt Tatyana, I do know; therefore, I know there will be time to make these arrangements of which you speak. I am not mindless of my duty to my nation, but I am also very mindful of my duty to my friends.”

  The old woman’s thin lips pressed together into a line, then she slowly nodded. “I see. So this is a sham?”

  Alyx lifted her chin. “We have slept together. Scrainwood’s people will tell you that.”

  “Yes, but have you lain with him?”

  Tatyana’s question shouldn’t have surprised her, but it did. The nights on the road had brought her into physical contact with Crow. It hadn’t been the sort of intimacy her question asked after, but it had been more than casual. Comfortable described it in part, but insufficiently. Her inability to name it frustrated her as much as her missing it now did.

  The princess put her frustration into a snort. “Would you inspect my loins, Grand Duchess?”

  The old woman flicked a finger and one of the guards started forward until Peri’s furious shriek split the air. “Touch my sister and the witch will be opened throat to belly.” The Gyrkyme held her left hand out, wickedly hooked talons ready to strike.

  “Peri, hold.” Alexia glared at the guard, backing him into his place. “You have forgotten one thing, Grand Duchess. You may lead the Crown Circle, you may have the ear of your brother, but I am the crown princess. Nowhere amid your edicts or pronouncements do you have the right to touch my person. You forgot that once and paid a small price for it. Neither you nor your agents will get off so lightly this time.”

  Tatyana clutched her hands back to her breast and rubbed the fingers that Alexia had bitten at their first meeting, when Tatyana had pried her mouth open to inspect her teeth. “And have you forgotten, Crown Princess Alexia, that while you have been off being trained to win our nation back, I have held it together? The debts owed to our house are owed to me. Arrogance and disregard for me and my wishes will cost you terribly.”

  The old woman stood and reached back for the cloak that was quickly draped over her shoulders. “But go on and play your little game to save this Crow. Just remember, in your dreams, you never had a husband. Consider carefully which way you influence the future. So much rests on your shoulders. I would not have you ruin things on a whim.”

  “Not a whim, Aunt Tatyana, but for a friend and a man who will much annoy the enemy.”

  Tatyana raised an eyebrow. “Indeed. Then, perhaps, he will be worth a look, this Crow. I hope for your sake he is, else he will be a distraction and all shall fall to ashes for your folly.”

  CHAPTER 15

  G eneral Markus Adrogans, leader of the Jeranese Horse Guards and commander of the Southlands expedition liberating Okrannel, stood on a windswept hill to the north of the city of Guraskya. He granted that it was a city, for it was the capital of the Guranin Highlands, but compared to the sophisticated cities to the south and east—cities of stone and soaring towers—it seemed little more than a village grown beyond all proportion.

  Though the Guranin highlanders did pay allegiance to the Okrans crown, having long ago been conquered, they did hold themselves as a people apart. Younger sons and daughters of the Okrans conquerors had married into the highland clans and instead of bringing city sophistication to their new home, the Okrans nobility were seduced by the strength of highland bloodlines and custom. For generations, lesser nobles fled to the highlands when cities could not contain their dreams and rebellious spirits, and the Guranin welcomed them openly.

  Guraskya had been laid out in highland fashion, which meant it really had not been planned at all. Rectangular longhouses of wood, with thatched roofs and smoke holes, provided shelter. The buildings did not rise above a single story, nor were wings built onto them when a clan grew beyond that single structure. Other buildings would be raised, some nearby, some far, none connecting and all canted at angles that made them look like debris left from tossed jackstraw.

  From the hilltop Adrogans could see two or three marketplaces, but from their size and location he assumed they had sprung up over what had been a longhouse that had burned down. Stockyards dotted the settlements south, west, and east, with barns and warehouses nearby. To the north a “foreign quarter” had been created, but until the arrival of his troops, it had consisted of two inns and a single tavern, since visitors were rare and accommodations were not meant to encourage long stays.

  That foreign quarter had expanded rather quickly in the last month. He and the Alcidese general, Turpus Caro, had stationed their troops in Guraskya, along with a fifth of the Svoin refugees. Other units had trekked further to the north and west, stationing refugees in villages and hamlets, small towns and clan centers. The highland clans, while normally having nothing but contempt for lowlanders, showed incredible compassion for the wretched people who sought sanctuary in their land. The clans had vied to house the people, and Adrogans’ early days in Guraskya had been spent listening to clan leaders explain all they had to offer.

  In accord with their sizes and wealth, Adrogans had scattered his charges. The vast majority, a thousand of the sickest and most malnourished, had remained in Guraskya. The Tsuvo, Bravonyn, and Arzensk Clans shared the city and had been more than generous in dealing with the refugees. While they had not opened their longhouses to the foreign troops, they went to great pains to sort through genealogies to pair refugees with families that might share even a drop of blood, and he’d been assured that a lot of common links had been discovered in a very short time—much to everyone’s satisfaction.

  Snow blanketed the city, but still people moved about. The troop staging areas, which ringed the hill on which he stood, showed the most activity. It might have seemed an illusion because the round tents housing troops fluttered and twitched in breezes, though the snow built up around the sides did help insulate those within. The troopers had plenty to do, however, drilling, organizing woodcutting expeditions, and scouting the various approaches the Aurolani might take to attack.

  Adrogans stroked his chin with a mittened hand. On the plains before Svoin he had met with Nefrai-kesh, the sullanciri who had been Kenwick Norrington and who, in Chytrine’s name, commanded the Aurolani garrison in Svarskya. Chytrine’s general had promised Adrogans that he would not attack until spring, but the Jeranese leader knew better than to take the sullanciri at his word. If Nefrai-kesh needed an excuse to cover a treacherous attack, he could hide behind the fact that he’d been referring to a campaign against Svoin, not against Adrogans’ troops.

  As a Gyrkyme might fly, less than a hundred miles separated Guraskya from the Okrans capital, so the threat of attack remained almost constant. While the approaches to the highlands were few and easily guarded, Okrans troops without the benefit of Chytrine’s magicks and dragonels had been victorious centuries before. Lack of an active threat from the highlands before this had saved them from any concerted Aurolani effort to conquer them, but Adrogans refused to repay the highlanders’ kindness by permitting an Aurolani invasion.

  Ideas and strategies rolled through Adrogans’ mind, but two things distracted him from studying them too closely. The first was the slow filtering of people onto a training field down to his left, on the east side of the encampment. He counted a hundred and a half—a task made easy as they organized themselves into companies of thirty. A week previous, a quarter of that number had been on the field. The people, men and women alike, still had a skeletal thinness to them, but in their eyes he saw the lean
hunger of human wolves.

  He was not at all certain how many of the thousand who remained in Guraskya would train and join the Svoin Infantry. The people below were the strongest of his refugees and, in many ways, it surprised him that a legion and a half were able to take the field. While putting food in a man’s belly can make him content, there is no easy way to put fire in his soul. Those below were mostly bent on revenge, for the Aurolani rape of Svoin had cost everyone at least a relative, friend, or lover.

  Fight they would, and fiercely. But Adrogans entertained no illusions about their efficacy, for even three months of training would not prepare them for the sheer savagery of warfare. They would have to be held back like a fierce dog on a short lead and then released at that single point where they could do the most damage. The enemy would destroy them—of that he had no doubt—but he suspected the Svoinyki cared less about living than inflicting death on their former tormentors.

  The second thing that served to distract him huffed and puffed up the hill. The white of the snow contrasted sharply with the little man’s brown flesh. More oddly, the wizened creature wore only a loincloth and a threadbare cloak. His lack of clothing made it easy to see the various talismans hanging from piercings in his leathery flesh. His spare locks of grey hair floated on the breeze, adding to the jocularity of his lopsided grin.

  Adrogans found himself unable to resist returning that grin. “Uncle, it must be momentous news that brings you all the way up here.”

  Phfas broadened his smile to display yellowed teeth. “You will feel the change. Try.”