When Dragons Rage

by Michael A. Stackpole

  She’d shaken her head when first she saw a collection of the wounded. Isaura had actually heard the pained puling and mewing, but not even that had prepared her for blood-matted fur, rent flesh, and eyes wide with agony. The weapons used against the gibberkin clearly had not been meant to kill them. The spikes in the traps were too short to stab all the way through. The traps were meant to wound, and that made no sense to her.

  Trib, his white fur reddened up to his elbows and dappled crimson over his chest, explained carefully. “They have no desire to kill, my lady. A dead warrior requires only a hole in the ground. These require care and food and housing until they are recovered enough to go home or back to war. A corpse can be abandoned, but a wounded comrade must be rescued, often putting the rescuers at risk.”

  “But that is so cruel.”

  “This is why we fight them.” The kryalniri looked about him at the living carpet of wounded. “If we do not stop them, they will do this to our people when they come for us.”

  Retribution and reprisals had come hard and fast. Much of the outer ring of the city had been reduced to rubble, but the interior and the seaside remained virtually intact. Squads had roamed through the city, flushing out humans and herding them into squares. Some had been burned alive, the thick, nauseating smoke swirling through the city, while others were crucified and left to suffer. Their cries lacked the shrieked urgency of the burned, but took on a hideous tone as they subsided.

  And there were always more, stronger cries ebbing slowly to replace them.

  She could understand the repression and punishment of the city’s populace. If they were not discouraged, they would continue in their cruelty. While she could even understand their desire to protect their homes, their conduct—in the way they lived and in the way they fought—showed them to be lacking in the ways of civilized behavior. It is not possible to reason with the unreasoning.

  Yet despite her understanding, the way things were being done did discomfort her. Children were being slain along with adults. Isaura accepted as fact reports that said children were leading the troops into traps, but certainly they were merely imitating adults. Lord Neskartu had chosen some of them to be borne back to the Conservatory, so they had potential for use in the future. She wondered if all the children could not likewise be redeemed, once they were showed the error of their ways.

  This thought woke her—at least she decided this was what awakened her, not the dying echoes of a scream. She was tempted to use the magick Nefraikesh had given her so she could report her unease to him and suggest a plan to save the children, but she refrained. The last time she had reported to him, she caught a vision of two women, and it had frightened her—though she did not know why. It did make her reluctant, however—that late in the evening, with the wind howling outside—to speak with the king of the sullanciri.

  Unable to return to sleep, she slipped from her bed in an unruined portion of the duke’s palace. She pulled on a blue robe and belted it about her waist with a gold silk tie, then padded barefooted through the palace. She knew that with rebels about she was taking a risk, but she felt no fear. She was determined to find Neskartu and broach the subject of reforming the children.

  Her journey took her deep into the main building, and high. Cool air bled into the upper corridors from shattered windows and one spot where a wall had been holed, but it still felt mild to her. She hurried past battle-weary grichothka on post on the lower levels. In the upper reaches of the palace, however, the gibberers were taller and stronger, wearing clean tabards, and kryalniri patrolled the halls.

  No one questioned or stopped her, however, so she reached the modest chamber in which the duke had once held audiences. Eight pillars supported the ceiling, which did not rise high enough to escape light from the burning torches below. Scenes of myth, of hunts for giant serpents or temeryces, looked down on the four figures gathered in the room.

  Lord Neskartu stood with the two other sullanciri leading the Murosan invasion. Anarus, who wore a wolf’s-visage and had a thick pelt covering his body, curled a lip in a snarled greeting. He had neither seen nor heard her enter. His nostrils had flared as he caught her scent, and he meant the greeting to be pleasant, but a flash of lupine fang and a ripple of powerful muscles would require far more effort to seem welcoming.

  Tythsai bowed her head, slowly, in Isaura’s direction, but did not do so out of overt respect. As with several other of her mother’s generals, Tythsai had entered Aurolani service after death. The crude stitchery that kept her head on her body was impossible to miss, as was the lack of a flesh-and-blood right arm. Isaura seemed to recall, decades previous, when that arm had likewise been sewn on. Later it had been replaced with the first of several mechanical arms, making Tythsai into a meckanshii of sorts. Her current limb appeared to be made of quicksilver, though quite ordinary except for that detail.

  The fourth member of the group immediately dropped to one knee. Even when he bent his head, he remained taller than she. The black cloak he wore covered him from shoulders to floor, with the spikes on his shoulders, arms, knees, and back poking out at sharp angles. The broad face, even with its twin curves of ivory fangs and covered in dark green scales, appeared softer and more friendly than that of Anarus. His big, dark eyes blinked once, then he lowered his gaze.

  “Highness, I am honored.”

  Isaura nodded toward him and her white-blonde hair slid forward past her shoulders. “Naelros, this is unexpected. You were at Fortress Draconis?”

  Naelros kept his head bent and would not meet her gaze. “I have come south, Highness, for I have failed the empress. I have brought my troops to help here and to search. One of the fragments was stolen from Draconis. Others are out hunting, but there is a chance the thieves tried to come south. We will find them, but our strength is needed here.”

  It will be most welcome, Naelros.

  Anarus snapped his jaws at that assertion. “Your strength may be needed, but you dilute our strength with your suggestions.” The lupine sullanciri moved to a table upon which had been spread a large map of Muroso. Heavy silver candlesticks held down the corners, and up by Porjal wax had already spilled onto it. “The only course of attack is to drive on Caledo. Once we strike the head, the body will die.”

  Yet because this is the obvious course, Anarus, they will defend against it.

  “What matter? They cannot stand against us!” The sullanciri hunched his shoulders and raked his clawed hands through the air. “We have the might—with or without your people, Naelros—to crush their capital.”

  Naelros slowly rose to his feet and walked to the map. He kept his gait steady and slow, but his long legs devoured the distance. The table touched his legs just above his knees and he had to bend down to tap a taloned finger to the map. “The coastal cities are easier to take. Once we eliminate them, we will be able to reinforce and resupply ourselves, and they will have nothing. We close the border with Saporicia and Muroso dies.”

  “Take Caledo, and the coastal cities will open themselves to us.” Anarus turned and nodded toward Tythsai. “You concur, yes?”

  The female sullanciri said nothing, but her right hand tightened into a fist. Her fluid metal fingers drove down through her palm and emerged as spikes through the back. The end of her limb thickened as the fist became a spiked mace. One long spike grew from the top of it and she tapped that against the map’s representation of Caledo.

  Neskartu reached out with a hand, letting his arm and fingers stretch out beyond all normal proportions. His fingertip played over the coastline. These are the better targets.

  A low growl rumbled from Anarus’ throat. “What is it you fear?”

  Nothing. The toll taken on my students and your stores of firedirt, however, was greater than expected. If we have the ports we enrich ourselves and hurt them.

  Anarus snorted. “This is precisely why you are not in command of this invasion. Do you think supplies will flow here immediately? Yes, we can send ships from Vorque
llyn, but this invasion will be won with the supplies already flowing south on the land route. There is nothing that can oppose us.”

  Then you devalue the magery of Muroso.

  “No, I count on you to rid me of their mages.”

  This shall be done. What of the Norrington? What of Alexia of Okrannel?

  Anarus started to snarl again, but Isaura’s gasp cut him off. “She is here!”

  The wolf-thing’s head snapped around. “Who? Your mother?”

  “No, this Alexia.” Isaura pressed her hands to her temples. When Neskartu had communicated the concept of Alexia, it merged perfectly with the image of the blonde woman she’d seen when speaking with Nefrai-kesh. “She is in Caledo.”

  “How do you know this?”

  Naelros snorted a hint of steam. “Even I have heard rumors that the Norrington has come north to Muroso. Alexia travels with him. She will be a formidable foe.”

  “A foe without dragonels.” Anarus glanced sidelong at Naelros. “A foe without your kin.”

  “They are not for you to command, but for the empress.” The dracomorph’s dark eyes narrowed and his voice lowered in volume with no loss of timbre. “Anarus, you took Porjal, but it took longer than any other city. In Caledo you will face even more severe defenses. You may receive help, but if you insist on attacking the southlanders where they are the strongest, the cost of your victories will slay the invasion.”

  “Were your prophetic visions accurate, Naelros, you would have foreseen the theft of the fragment. Your performance pleases our mistress not at all. Mine does, which is why I command here. I welcome your strength, but it is my vision that has brought us this far, and shall carry us further.”

  He tapped a finger on the map. “Caledo will fall. There is nothing a foundling princess from Okrannel or a bastard gutterkin from Alcida can do about it. It is our empress’ will that Muroso fall, and so it shall. Before there is a hope of spring, this nation shall be ours.”

  CHAPTER 50

  W ill glanced through the open doorway of Princess Alexia’s room, as if making sure she was alone before he knocked on the jamb. “I’m sorry to disturb you.”

  Alyx looked up from a chair near the fireplace and smiled. She had been preparing to enter the Communion to see if there was anything she could glean from them about Aurolani efforts elsewhere, but the apprehension on Will’s face made it easy for her to set that aside. “No, that’s fine, Will. What’s the matter?”

  The thief hesitated, then began slowly. “I was wondering . . . um, I need some help.” He stepped into the room and extended the small parchment packet in his right hand toward her. “I got this message but, well, I can’t read.”

  Alyx beckoned him farther into the room and he came reluctantly, which surprised her. He was more subdued than usual, and certainly more so than anytime since they’d started to put together the group that would attack Chytrine’s supply train. “Crow could have read it for you, or Resolute.”

  He shifted his shoulders uneasily. “I would have asked them, but they’re busy. Kerrigan, too. I mean, not that you are not, but . . .”

  “No offense taken.” She took the packet from him and turned it over one side, then the other. It had been sealed with red wax, but the seal meant nothing to her. The address on the reverse had been written in a clean hand and directed the packet to be delivered to Will Norrington in Caledo. Though there was no indication of who had sent it, Alyx was pretty certain it had been written by a woman.

  The concern on his face suggested to her that he knew it was from a woman, too, which could have explained his reluctance to have Crow or Resolute read it for him. “Doesn’t say who it is from, but it is meant for you. It was sent here to you in Caledo.”

  “So, it’s not from here?”

  “Here?”

  “Here here, like from the palace or anything?”

  “Probably not.” She shook her head, then pointed him to the other chair. “You can sit if you want.”

  “I’ll be sitting enough when we ride out. I’ll stand.” Will swayed a bit from side to side, then crossed from the door and rested his hands on the back of the chair she’d pointed to. “You can open it.”

  “I’ll have to if I’m to read it, won’t I?” She slid a thumb under the flap and broke the seal. She drew out two folded pieces of parchment and glanced at the bottom of the second page. “It’s signed, ‘The one you saved.’ ”

  Will frowned for a moment and anguish washed over his face. “That’s it?”

  Alyx looked at the first page. “Dear Lord Norrington, Since your departure from Meredo, the city has been in an uproar.”

  The thief’s anxiety broke and he grinned. “It has to be from Sephi!”

  The princess frowned. “Sephi is Scrainwood’s spy?”

  “Was. That’s why she said you and Crow were married. She wanted to help me, so I made her my spy.” Will came around and seated himself on the edge of the chair. “What does she say?”

  Alexia quickly scanned the two pages. “It’s mostly court gossip. Linchmere’s departure was noticed immediately, and folks are saying that he’s with you, or that Kenleigh and he are off on a mission to Fortress Draconis to save Erlestoke and bring him home to the throne. Various soothsayers are spreading the story that Erlestoke is still alive, but she thinks they might be stalking horses for a group of nobles who are looking to overthrow the king. If they hold Erlestoke up as some paradigm of virtue, King Scrainwood looks even worse, so the people will be upset. One of those lords ended up dead, so she supposes there is a shadow war going on, which is not good.”

  Will shook his head as he frowned. “Oriosa, weak as it is, is better than no Oriosa. If it falls apart, Chytrine just pours through it.”

  “That’s absolutely true.” Alexia looked at the second page. “King Scrainwood, it seems, is keeping company with Nolda Norrington. I might suggest not letting Kenleigh know that.”

  “No, no, I wouldn’t.”

  Alexia sighed. “This is not good. My aunt and King Scrainwood have plotted to have the leaders of the world meet in Narriz inside a month, to determine new strategies. Invitations have gone out and travel has been started. King Bowmar has said nothing, so either he thinks such a meeting is foolishness or . . .”

  “. . . or they never invited him, figuring he’ll be dead by the time the meetings come off.” The thief closed his eyes for a moment. “They’re assuming that Chytrine won’t just march on into Saporicia.”

  And if they assume she will . . . The implications of that idea surprised her. She could have believed Scrainwood would have set an ambush for his fellow leaders, but Tatyana? That made no sense. What did make sense was that somehow Tatyana had managed to twist Scrainwood around to the point where he saw an advantage in opposing Chytrine, and with the Aurolani horde poised to invade his nation, that wouldn’t have been difficult.

  “I don’t know what they are thinking, Will.” Alyx sighed and tried to let the flutter in her gut subside. “She closes with, ‘You should know that the people of Meredo have taken your words to heart. Your Freemen have set an example. There are free militias preparing to defend the nation forming up all over. Refugees are being welcomed and housed. There are even those who think you should be placed on the throne if neither prince survives. I would add my voice to their cries, but it is best I remain hidden. Better to serve you and our cause, which I shall.’ ”

  Will settled back in the chair and let out a big sigh of relief. “Thanks. I should write her back, I guess. I would, if I knew how to write and where she was going to be.”

  “That is a problem.” Alexia refolded the letter. “Now, why don’t you tell me the problem you came here to ask me about.”

  The thief’s eyes grew wide for a second, then his expression smoothed into one as close to innocent as he could manage. “That was it, the letter.”

  “Will, you came here because you must have trusted me. Now the signature ‘the one you saved,’ applies to this Sephi, and
to at least one more woman I know of.”

  “Two others could say that.” Will shrugged. “One you don’t know.”

  “And the other is from here, which also worried you. You thought this was from Sayce.” Alexia rose, closed the door to her chamber, then returned to her chair. “Why would getting a note from her concern you? And what about it couldn’t you ask Crow, Resolute, or Kerrigan?”

  “Well, it’s this thing, see. A romantic thing, so Kerrigan wouldn’t know anything about it.”

  She smiled. “Will, I don’t think I’m much better equipped than Kerrigan to deal with questions of romance.”

  “But you’ve, well, you’ve at least kissed someone.” Will shifted painfully in the chair. “I mean, Crow has, too. He’s kissed you, but he wouldn’t know what a woman thinks. And Resolute, well . . .”

  She held a hand up. “We are agreed on Resolute.” Alyx leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “I will help if I can, but it’s probably easier for you to read this letter by yourself than it is for me to read someone else’s feelings.”

  “Please, Princess, don’t say that.” The plea in Will’s voice sank deep into her heart. “I can’t . . . I don’t know who or what or how, and with my going away and Sayce going with you, I mean . . . I don’t know what I mean.”

  He hung his head and she reached out to stroke his hair. “Will, tell me what has happened.”

  He sighed heavily, then nodded. “Well, okay, it’s like this. When we were in Bokagul I liked her. We were friends. She’s closer to my age than any of the rest of you, except for Kerrigan, and he’s okay, but there are times he’s talking and I recognize words but I don’t have any idea of what he’s talking about. But Sayce didn’t see me as some little thief, but as a hero, so she talked to me differently. I mean, you and Crow and everyone but Resolute talk nice to me, too, but I guess it was just different with her. I liked talking with her. I liked it a lot. And then when she went down, well, I was angry and bleeding and said what I said and I don’t have any idea what it was or why it worked, but it did and she was saved. Then when I talked to her while she was recovering, she was grateful and she ran her fingers in my hair and, well, I liked that, too.”