“Of course you can’t leave her with him,” Nemara put her hand on his arm, “but it needs to be planned. Let’s just move up our timeline.”
“He has used black magic to control her. She is totally at his mercy. Every minute she is there…” Alador could not express how much the situation appalled him. His anguish oozed from every aspect of his being.
“It will do her no good if you rush in unprepared,” Nemara warned him. “You have told me repeatedly that his overthrow must be meticulously planned.” She cupped his cheek with her hand, drawing his eyes to her. “You cannot barge in. Your death will only leave her open to whatever abuse he wishes.”
Alador did not want to listen. He wanted to rage in and kill his uncle with daggers of ice and drown him in chilling saltwater, but deep down, he knew that he should heed Nemara’s counsel. “You’re right,” he breathed.
“Go… see to the progress your brother has made with organizing the Daezun. Speak with your dragons. I will go to the High Master Bariton and ease him into a tighter timeline,” she offered.
Alador wrapped his arms around her and kissed her on the forehead. “Thank you.”
He stepped back from her and pulled out the traveling amulet Henrick had given him, fingering it with fondness. It had become very useful over the last two turns. Now, it was a critical tool.
He focused on the coal room in his mother’s home.
When he arrived, he carefully opened the door and was relieved to see a new roof on the house. The village way was to have all hands work on one roof, and then move on to the next. It was an efficient process.
The house was quiet, but the sound of building echoed through the village. They would all be out working. He moved into the next room to see that Maman’s kitchen was not only rebuilt but improved. Alador had no doubt that between his brothers and Henrick, it had been a focal point. He decided to prepare a meal for them to eat when they arrived home for the day.
He stood for a moment staring at the banked fire and realized he had no idea how to cook. All his life, meals had been provided. Fortunately, he did know how to roast meat over a campfire. Unfortunately, a careful look through his mother’s kitchen found no fresh meat, although there were plenty of tubers and fruit. Finally, he found some cheese and decided to lay out fruit, bread and cheese on a tray. He started to slice everything.
He just finished setting the table and placing the tray when the bell rang to end the workday. It was not much longer before his mother hurried into the house, anxious to start preparing dinner. She saw the table set and the tray Alador had laid out. Her face lit up when she spotted him by the cutting board. He noted she had thinned over the summer, but her welcoming smile reassured him of her health.
“Alador, twice so soon? I am so happy to see you.” She practically ran around the table and pounced on him with a big opened arm hug. “What do you think of the kitchen? I love it. I can’t wait to be able to start my storing up. Well, what is left to store up. Storm took a lot of harvest.” She rattled on without seeming to take a breath. “What am I going on about? You are here.”
Alador could not help himself, he laughed and squeezed her shoulders. “You need to take a breath, Maman.”
“Yes, I do. Henrick is always telling me that.” She punched his arm. “You knew he was a dragon all that time and you didn’t tell me! Seems to me something your mother should know.”
Alador flinched; she had not held back her solid punch. “Look how you reacted, Maman! but I am here for more serious matters.”
“More serious than my housemate is a dragon?” She searched his face and sobered immediately as the pain in his eyes registered. “What has happened?”
“Mesiande wasn’t lost to the storm. The High Minister of Lerdenia stole her from the village.” Tears filled his eyes.
He had anticipated his mother’s distress, but her reaction was far beyond his predictions. “Korpen shite he did!” Her hands went to her waist and she glared at her son with misplaced anger. “What you doin’ about it?”
“That is why I am here, Maman.” He took a breath as the door opened and decided to wait until everyone was there.
Maman took control of Henrick, Dorien and Tentret, as they entered. All noted her commanding tone and quickly did as they were told, sinking down in their chairs around the table.
His mother stood at the foot, hands on her hips and continuing to give orders. “Okay now, you all listen up. That nasty man, the High Minister, has our Mesi. Henrick, you are going to go eat him right now.”
Alador stopped in the middle of silently greeting Henrick and his brothers and turned toward his mother in shock. “Maman, if the High Minister is eaten by a dragon, the divide between mortals and dragons will only grow.”
“We forgave that big red beast that flamed our homes,” she poked at the air for emphasis.
Both Alador and Henrick winced. That was one thing they would never tell her - that the same dragon she now abided with in her home was the one who attacked the village. Some things were better left unsaid.
“The Lerdenians are not the forgiving sort, Alanis,” Henrick replied softly. He looked at Alador with sympathy. “This changes little, though I imagine in your heart it changes much.”
“We can’t leave her there, Henrick. You know what he is capable of and what he has done before.” Alador threw the man a pleading look.
“Agreed! It is for leverage over you, correct?” Henrick’s face was hard. Gone was the jovial mage he usually projected.
“Yes,” Alador hesitated as to how to proceed. He needed to keep in mind that no one knew of his involvement in creating the storm that had decimated the village. “He wants me to cast the spells that the storm mage has refused him.”
“Ah, I see.” Henrick answered knowingly. He looked over at Dorien. “Can we move it along faster?”
“I don’t know, Henrick. It is a lot to do, making preparations and still trying to get repairs done before winter comes.” Dorien sounded very unsure.
“We will move it faster.” Alanis decreed, still towering over them at the foot of the table.
“Alanis, dear…” Henrick tried to reason with her.
“Don’t you ‘Alanis dear’ me! This village is still led by the women, though we let the men think they are leading it,” she boldly declared. “When I share that this despot has Mesiande, the women will rise up and insist that we move immediately.”
“Maman, we have other people to coordinate. ‘Immediately’ will not let me put things in place to ensure the least loss of life.” Alador tried to explain.
“That is your Mesi he has,” his mother firmly stated. “We attack in a fortnight, with or without your fancy mages.” She plopped down in her chair and glared at Henrick. “Or dragons.”
“A fortnight will work,” Henrick offered, trying to placate the angry Daezun woman.
Dorien did not look as certain as their mother did. Regardless, they spent the rest of the cold meal planning the attack to remove Luthian from power. Alador just hoped he did not lose Mesiande in the crossfire.
By the time they were finished, Alador was on his way to see Sordith, and Henrick was planning on reporting the situation to Rheagos.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Alador did not risk using the traveling amulet to appear at Sordith’s manor. His brother’s home had been gutted by the wave, and he had no idea of a safe location to arrive without the possibility of injury. Instead, he went home and then moved quickly down the tiers.
People were still talking about the storm and the dragons that were taking the dead. Luthian had been forced to send out criers to calm the populace and tell them the dead were being taken to Dethara’s temple for their final rites. Even so, if the many conversations he heard bits and pieces of were to be believed, no one had a recent memory of dragons helping Silverport.
As he entered the trench, he once more observed the damage and realized it would be a long time before the area was functional. Min
ers were still shoring up walls and moving dirt despite the many days they had been working.
Alador made his way to the trench hall steps. Many of the imposing statues had been overturned or destroyed. It was an improvement in his opinion; they had been rather morbid in their focus.
He rapidly ascended and entered the hall looking for Sordith. The sounds of hammering and movement could be heard from the doorway.
“Sordith?” he called. He did not want to be mistaken for an intruder.
He heard a faint call back and moved toward his brother’s receiving room and office. Here, the repairs were finished. New doors had been installed, and Sordith’s weapons were on the wall. There were a few empty spaces, hopefully due to cleaning and not misplacement. Sordith was rather finicky about that collection.
Since the room had needed repair, it seemed the Trench Lord had decided on a full renovation, sparing no expense. Instead of the previous stone floor, there were red rugs. They complimented the strange red desk with its unusual water stain patterns that only seemed to add to it. His brother had arranged to have everything else done in hues of gray and black. It was impressive.
Sordith sauntered in. He had clearly been giving a hand with the repairs, as he was not in armor and his hair was filled with sawdust and…what appeared to be a piece of seaweed.
“I didn’t expect to see you so soon, Alador. Everything all right?” Sordith opened his bottom drawer, pulled out a bottle of smalgut and poured them both a stiff shot.
“No…” Alador paused, “Luthian has Mesiande.” He didn’t bother to soften the news.
“Shite!” Sordith handed over the shot of alcohol. “You might need this more than I do.”
Alador tossed it back, grimacing as he set the small glass down. “The timetable is being moved up.”
Sordith indicated for him to sit and plopped down in the chair behind his desk. “Afraid he will act before you can?”
“I am afraid of what he will do to her. He has already taken her will.” Alador scrubbed his face with his hand. It had been a very long day. “Like that stone that Veaneth, the Stable Lord, possessed.”
“It might be better that way,” his brother offered. “Maybe she won’t remember anything.”
“I can hope so.” Alador exhaled a deep sigh and looked up. “You ready for the plan?”
“One moment.” Sordith opened an upper drawer and took out parchment and quill. “Alright… Let us hear this plan and see if I concur.”
“Dorien is going to move the Daezun force right onto the plain in a fortnight. I need you to join up with him and lead them through the city, securing each tier as you go.”
“Wait!” Sordith looked up from the parchment and pointed the quill at his brother. “How are the Daezun coming? Horse? Cart? Marching? Did you take into consideration the dragons of Morana are still flying over the city? They will spot them coming and might even attack if Luthian can get the Death Priestess to order them to.”
“We do not have to worry about them being spotted. It will be a surprise arrival.”
Sordith frowned at him. “I do not like surprises when planning an assault on a mage-fortified city.”
“You will have to trust me on this Sordith. It is a Daezun secret, and one I am sworn not to share. It is the one thing I cannot share with a Lerdenian.” He looked apologetic as he studied the glass in his hands. “Trust me,” he repeated. “Just be on the edge of the plain to meet them.”
Sordith huffed his disapproval of secrets between them, but lowered his quill back to the parchment and scribbled a note.
Alador continued. “Bariton will pull his men to the third tier, so this should go quietly. Levielle’s army is gone, but any leftover guards will have to be silenced.” He waited for his brother to take notes.
“Easy enough… me and my boys can move quietly through the city before they are expected and make sure those that might give cry are too drunk, or too dead, to care.” Sordith stated with confidence.
The mage looked at his brother and sighed. “The idea is to offer the people something better, Sordith, not the status quo. We need to do this with as few casualties as possible.”
“Of course…” Sordith acquiesced with a nod of his head.
“Don’t patronize me. I might just decide to freeze your arse to your chair and let you sit out the battle.” Alador’s warning held an edge of seriousness.
“And here you said you wanted to limit death.” the Trench Lord teased.
“Oh, it wouldn’t kill you. I would leave you thawed enough to breathe,” Alador smirked.
“Whoa… You are such a spoil sport.” Sordith winked at Alador.
Alador frowned. “Let’s be serious for a moment?” They really did not have time for this foolish banter.
“You want to be serious, brother?” Sordith leaned forward, picked up his glass and threw back the rest of its contents. “A man you wouldn’t let me kill has eliminated a good third of the trench, if not more…” His smile had turned into a frown that heavily creased his brow. “My home was destroyed by an unnatural storm…” Sordith was building up steam. If he had been a dragon his nostrils would have been smoking. “The trench itself is looking at a couple more weeks before it becomes remotely habitable, but I am certain its occupants will be forced into it sooner.” Sordith shot to his feet. He slammed the glass so hard on the desktop the bottom broke out of it. “AND, I am about to make an impulsive young man ‘King,’ because the populace would never accept me.” He leaned over the desk and glared at Alador. “Serious will get someone killed.”
Alador took a gulp of air because in that last moment of ire, he realized if Sordith knew the truth of the storm and who started it, it would be him the Trench Lord would want beneath his blade. “Sorry I asked,” he managed to mutter.
Sordith pulled himself up and set back down. He took several deep breaths and then picked up his quill. “Shall we continue?”
The young mage sought to refocus the man. “I need you, my brother Dorien, and Bariton to hold the line at the gates to the fourth tier. Let the people flee down if they choose, but I need you to coordinate forces that have never worked together.”
“Wait! Wait… Wait…” With each repetition, his voice grew deeper and harder. Sordith pinned him with a stare. “When do I get to the top tier to kill Luthian?”
“You don’t.”
It just hung there.
“I don’t?” One eyebrow shot up.
“No.”
“Unacceptable!” Sordith threw down the quill. “I demand satisfaction.”
“I know my geas will not be fulfilled if Luthian is killed by any other than a Daezun hand.” Alador firmly stated. He had known deep down this was true, but could he convince his brother? “You, my dear Trench Lord, are not Daezun.”
“I don’t give a shite about your geas. He killed my people. I must be the one to kill Luthian.” Sordith stated very firmly.
“How about a compromise?” Alador offered.
“I fail to see a satisfying compromise.” Sordith let his quill drop again, leaned back and crossed his arms in rebellion.
“First one to him gets to kill him.” Alador offered. Really, the goal was to see Luthian dead, so motivating Sordith could hardly hurt his cause.
“Hardly fair, as I assume you have some plan to be at the top.” Sordith pointed out dryly.
“Yes, but you are better than I am,” Alador offered as consolation.
“Well, there is that.” Sordith picked up the quill eyeing Alador. “First man to him,” he stated for verification.
“First man to him,” Alador agreed.
“I will coordinate with Bariton. You are certain this Dorien will arrive on time?” Sordith pressed. “I normally don’t work with the unknown.”
“I am betting my life on it,” Alador stated firmly.
“You are betting all our lives on it,” Sordith reminded him, sobering them both once more. “I will be honest, letting an army of Daezun in ou
r gates goes against everything I have learned and believed.”
They sat silently for a few moments. Sordith rose, and after finding a new glass, he poured them both another shot.
“To change,” he held up his glass and saluted.
“To change,” Alador echoed and their glasses clinked with the final nail. Their path was set.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Keensight waited in the large cavern for the rest of the flight leaders; this would be their first meeting since shortly after Renamaum’s death. Some wanted to honor Renamaum’s quest to reunite the island. Others resisted, insisting the blue flight leader was betrayed by those he sought to help. Unfortunately, in his anger, Keensight had been the leader of that side of the great debate. A big sigh rumbled up with a bit of smoke. He had been so wrong.
Over the years of taking on a mortal form, he had learned that people in general were good. Everyone, just like dragons, had flaws. It was not the populace that was the problem - it was the overall tone of their leadership. By ranking people by their magical skills, the country had become one of elitism. Only the privileged benefited as the rest of those in the country tried to carve out enough slips for small comforts. The only class that had it easy was the fourth and fifth tiers. He had liked that comfort as well, as he lived among them. However, unlike many of the elite, he made an effort to help those in need whenever possible.
Helping others in need… It had been a foreign concept when he was younger. Renamaum had tried to show him the way so many times, but Keensight knew he chose not to listen. The mortals killed his mate and stole their egg. He waited until it should have hatched and even years after, but he knew the hatchling was lost to him. He never saw a dragon that could possibly have been his and Alkalay’s. He rolled the name over in his mind. He could not remember the last time he spoke it.
He wondered if any of the flight leaders would even answer his call. He took a deep breath and considered what he would say. He would have an uphill battle unless Rheagos appeared. The problem was the great golden dragon did not wake often these days. He often slumbered for turn after turn before he finally made an appearance. Keensight did not know if his call had been strong enough to reach the senior dragon’s consciousness.
Fallen Tiers Page 22