“Or burned to death in the blast,” Alyssa said from her seat.
“Perhaps the smaller dragons killed him first and then his body burned,” Captain Fallow said. “My sailors found no sign of him, and his body would be hard to miss, even burned and charred as the others were.
“You don’t think he was one of those dragons, now do you?” Madalena said, creasing her brow and looking at each in turn, meeting their gazes with that questioning stare.
Diamedes finally spoke again. “I don’t think the first two were real northerners in the first place.”
“How so, Master Historian?” Fallow said.
The barons, earls, and counts of the various realms would have easily been accounted for, even at a far flung location as Balaria. The barbarian tribes of the north, however, are ever dynamic, changing allegiances as well as positions within their own hierarchy. It is close to impossible to keep track of which tribe or clan is dominate at any distinct time. It was the perfect mask for them in which to conceal themselves,” the small man said, stroking his chin and thinking more upon the two wyverns.
“How could they change shape the way they did? That looked more like sorcery than anything else. They must have been aligned with the Kesh,” Madalena stated.
“I don’t think so,” Diamedes continued. The Kesh seem to hate the Draconus, however, the Draconus most certainly have a hatred for the magic-users. That, I think, is a certainty, so I don’t believe they are allied in any way.”
Madalena looked down, not completely sure the historian was correct but unwilling to challenge the man’s opinion without stronger evidence.
“So if there were two dragons and they’re both dead, then we’re done, are we not? I mean, what else is there to fear?” Fallow asked.
All eyes turned to Seth again. He stood, arms folded, looking at each Ulathan in turn. “I know for a fact that we killed both dragons.” At that, several of them sighed, letting out long breaths. “But I can say for certain that the assassin we encountered . . . well, that Master Diamedes encountered as well, was human in shape and form, if not somewhat wicked in manners and speech. I fear that, upon our return, we will face this assassin, still hidden amongst the representatives of the various realms.”
“Impossible,” Orwell began. “I think you’ll find, Master Seth, that the killer you fear so much is the northern princess, Alina of Elos. That is what we must confirm, and I’m certain we’ll find her too close to your governing comrades for comfort.”
Seth noticed a gleam in the justiciar’s eye and realized the man was already weighing and assessing the evidence and determining an outcome. He was a master at revealing the truth, especially when it was obscured, and Seth thought that perhaps there was more right in what the man said than not. “Perhaps you are correct, Justiciar Orwell. However, we should return and consult with our leaders first before confronting the northerner, even if you feel so strongly about the evidence.”
“What is there to consult?” Madalena said, a tone in her voice that conveyed surprise, and she stared directly at Seth.
“She may have not known about her companions,” Seth began, but was cut off by the holy warrior again.
“She more than knew, she directed them. Don’t you remember her volunteering them at the conclave?”
“I do, and I also remember others volunteering. I simply think it is prudent to consult first before confronting,” Seth finished, returning the intense gaze.
“Madalena,” Orwell began, his tone soothing, “allow our Balarian hosts to discuss this matter first and we will stand at the ready to assist should they call for it.”
The sound advice and words of wisdom from her lord and liege was enough to console the large woman, and she looked down, speaking no further.
Seth nodded to Orwell, who returned the gesture. One way or another they would get to the truth.
The Hammer sailed all day, having left as early as they could. The group had spent less than an hour searching the beach and nearby countryside for any signs of survivors or the large northern barbarian Graz, as well as taking care of the few burned remains of their comrades. To get back to their ship, a small rowboat was sent out and had to take them three at a time due to its lack of size. Both skiffs were a total loss.
They arrived well after sunset, and the stars were shining while both of Agon’s moons, Tira and Sara, had just risen above the eastern horizon. The large ship had to berth at the very end of Balax’s large dock, as its keel wouldn’t clear the floor of the bay near the harbor proper and it had no skiffs to transport them to shore. Waiting for another boat would have taken time, and they were in a hurry.
Alighting the man-of-war via the large, long plank, the group walked down the dock to the harbor street. “This is where we part ways,” Seth said.
“Are you sure, Master Seth?” Orwell asked.
“Yes,” Seth said, looking to each in turn. “I hope I’m wrong, but if I’m not, follow the plan.”
“Aye,” Captain Farrow said. “I’ll have the Hammer ready to sail, and we’ll be at full alert in case you call.”
“Good,” Orwell said, giving the captain a hand on his shoulder for a moment and then watching as the captain turned and headed back to their ship. “I’d talk you out of it, Balarian, but these are your people and you know them better than most.”
Seth nodded to Orwell and gave the historian and the holy warrior woman a nod each in turn before he focused his attention on Alyssa. “Can I talk you out of this?” Seth asked.
“Hardly,” Alyssa said, returning the look and placing both her hands on his chest. “I can’t dissuade you either, so we do this one last task together. Then we do as we promised.”
Alyssa didn’t wait for a response and placed her head on his shoulder. Seth found himself wrapping his arms around her and holding her before noticing the attention he was receiving from the Ulathans. Pulling Alyssa away, he looked at her, eye to eye, holding her arms just below her shoulders for effect. “Don’t do anything silly. Stay with the Ulathans. Stay behind their warriors.”
Madalena nodded, an honor that she acknowledged as Alyssa looked at the Ulathans for a moment before returning her gaze to Seth. “I will, and you come back in one piece as well. That’s an order.”
Seth nodded and then kissed her on the forehead and started to turn away but found himself pulled back around by Alyssa’s hands that had never released their grip on his tunic. She planted her lips on his and gave him a long kiss before finally winking at him and pushing him away.
Seth turned and headed toward the same Balarian complex as the Ulathans, but by a different way. A secret way. One that only two people knew about in all of Agon. Azex and Seth. Seth would return to his roots. Seth would be the assassin he had always been. Death left the docks and headed for the governor’s high hall.
The trip to the governmental complex took longer than they expected. There were more checkpoints along the way, and delays were longer at each gate. The guards seemed to be obtaining clearance before they were allowed to proceed further. Alyssa explained that this was not normal procedure, but she was a guild member and not an official government agent as Seth was. He could have sped things up, but they had a different plan.
After close to a half hour at the final, main gate, they were escorted by a rather large contingent of Balarian elite troops. Justiciar Orwell had his bodyguard Madalena, the Fist of Astor, as well as the Tynirian king’s royal historian Diamedes and, of course, Alyssa. The justiciar was accompanied by a score of his own elite troops, who were outnumbered two to one by the Balarian escort alone.
A separate messenger had been sent to their villa to recall the Ulathan ambassador, Willis, and the Tynirian ambassador, Toray. Finally they arrived at the main hall, not far from the large courtyard that had seen so much action the last week.
“So it is true, you’re back rather early,” Richtor said from atop his ruling seat, looking as if he hadn’t moved in two days since their conclave. �
��I’ve been told there is no sign of the Kesh. Is he with you?”
Orwell walked forward toward the large table set just below the dais where several representatives sat. He looked for Alina of Elos but didn’t see her there. “The Kesh wizard perished.”
“And our master assassin?” Richtor asked again.
“Also dead,” Orwell said, continuing to approach the group.
“Come, Gaius,” Lord Arwell said from the side of the table, standing and grabbing a spare goblet filled with wine and walking around the table toward Orwell.
Orwell had nodded to Madalena when they entered, and she in turn gave a subtle gesture to their troops who were all armed, weapons sheathed, however. They had entered and immediately spread out across the large hall, surprising the Balarian escorts somewhat as they attempted to fan out with the Ulathans. Alyssa kept her back to the wall and started to move around the room.
The gesture had gone unnoticed by most, drunk or intoxicated as they were, or simply inattentive as was Richtor. Most, except for the two men flanking the governor. The man to Richtor’s left, an elderly gentleman in simple robes, looking very much like a long lost, though taller, cousin of Diamedes, looked around the room and then allowed his eyes to go straight to the ceiling, which seemed odd to the Ulathans. He, however, remained silent.
The other man looked intently and then leaned over toward Richtor and whispered something to the governor before leaning back in his chair and nodding to the back of the room at someone.
“I can’t believe that, Makor,” Richtor stated loudly, looking at Orwell intently. “I don’t think our Ulathan guests would come into our own quarters with any ill intent, now would they?”
The room became silent instantly as the tension started to sink in on the guests around the table and the guards in the room. Intoxicated or not, when a sword fight seemed imminent, that received a lot of attention.
Orwell looked at Arwell intently, and the stocky man placed both goblets down without a word and returned to stand behind his seat where his sword was sheathed and hanging over the edge of his chair as Orwell reached the guest table and stood, hands on his hips, one quite near to his magnificent sword.
“Well, Ulathan? Do you deny?” Makor asked, his tone less than formal and much less polite.
“Deny what, Balarian?” Orwell said, the informality as much of an insult as any verbal barb could be.
“You come before this body not in peace, Ulathan,” the newly minted thieves’ guild master goaded, “but with mal intent. Remember that no one forced you to assist in this undertaking. You did this of your own free will.”
“That depends,” Orwell stated simply.
“Depends on what, Lord Orwell?” Richtor said, trying to make up for the discourtesy of his colleague. Richtor may act the fool at times, but when self preservation was at stake, the governor maneuvered quite nimbly.
“Where is the Lady Alina of Elos?” Orwell demanded.
There was quiet for a moment as mostly everyone looked around, not seeing the woman until her voice floated across the hall and her footsteps became audible as she appeared from the far side of the room waking toward the raised dais. “I am here, Lord Orwell. What would you wish of me?”
Everyone watched at the beautiful woman continued to walk past Makor, having taken three steps up the dais and moved behind Richtor’s large chair, standing to face the Ulathans while allowing her right arm to settle on the top of the ornate wooden seat that the governor used to conduct his business.
Alyssa continued to move and stopped as soon as she realized Makor was watching her despite the entrance of the northern barbarian princess. There was something off about the way she spoke and moved compared to when Alyssa last met her, and Alyssa’s hair on her neck and arms raised as her goosebumps sent a tingle through her body. Richtor seemed uncomfortable with the wild-looking woman so close to him and his refined silk clothes. She almost appeared dirty next to the meticulously dressed governor.
“Historian,” Orwell said, nodding to Diamedes, who took a couple of steps past Madalena to stand near the justiciar.
“Elos is an interesting place, is it not, Alina?” Diamedes said, looking at the woman intently.
“Very much so, Master Historian. Have you been there?” the woman asked demurely, as if playing with her food at a dinner party but not really partaking in the act of eating.
“I haven’t, though the word is not part of the common tongue, at least not in Agon. It is, however, found in some ancient tomes, and the references there are most revealing.”
Alina’s eyes narrowed, and she dropped her arm behind the governor’s chair, leaning slightly forward at the waist as if looking down at a misbehaving child. “You think yourself too smart for my kind,” she said, her look now turning to near anger.
“Ah, what exactly are we discussing here?” Richtor said, uneasiness in his voice as he looked up at Alina and then back to Diamedes.
“Our Master Diamedes has uncovered the meaning of the name, Elos,” Orwell said, again motioning to the small historian with his head.
“Go on,” Richtor said, prompting the historian.
Diamedes cleared his throat before continuing. “Elos is the name of the ancestrial homeland of the Azure Draconus species.”
“The what?” Richtor asked, confusion more than abundant in his tone.
“The Blue Dragon species,” Orwell finished for Diamedes as there was a collective intake of breaths from those in attendance at hearing the words of the Ulathan justiciar. “This woman serves the dragons of the north.”
“That can’t be,” Richtor began, turning in his seat to face the northern barbarian princess. “Tell us this man lies, Alina.”
The familiarity of Richtor’s speech to the northern woman indicated a level of formality that suggested the two were more than aquainted. Alyssa had the distinct impression that the woman had seduced the governor sometime in the last week, and the betrayal on the govenor’s face was evidence enough of that fact.
Alina never took her eyes off the Ulathans. “They do lie, my love,” Alina said, confirming the relationship as she used her left hand to caress the governor’s cheek. “They are, however, wrong about me serving the Draconus.”
Richtor seemed to appear suddenly pleased at the last statement, turning back to face Orwell with a smug look on his face. “You see there, Justiciar Orwell, your allegation is not founded in fact. You have no evidence, and the princess denies it.”
Orwell put his hand on his sword and Makor called out, “Guards, escort the Ulathan delegation to their ship.”
Alyssa began to move again but then stopped when the wild northern princess appeared to shimmer and speak.
“The Ulathans are wrong, my love,” Alina said to Richtor without looking at the man. “They are wrong because I do not serve the Draconus . . . I am a Draconus.”
Blood splayed from Richtor’s chest as a large claw mysteriously appeared from behind the man’s tall wooden chair, sending several members of the table reeling back in disgust as they were coated in the governor’s blood. Gasps and screams came from the dining guests and representatives as Richtor tried to speak but couldn’t. His hands grabbed hold of the claw and tried to pull it out to no avail.
“Enough of this,” Makor said, now standing. “I rule Balaria now, me and me alone. Guards, kill the Ulathans. Alina, finish what you started.”
Crossbows became visible from the upper balcony walkway as guards aimed to kill their guests, and then suddenly and without explanation, the lifeless bodies of the bowmen tipped over the railings and landed with muffled thuds on the paved tiles of the great hall. Seth had rallied his order as dark, cloaked assassins appeared along the walkways above.
Shock and horror took the group, and then Alina finished transforming from the northern barbarian princess to a large blue dragon, finally removing her claw from the governor’s back and sending another chill into everyone’s spine with one final act—an act of speech as sh
e said, “Time to die . . . humans.”
Chapter 23
Bluff
Half of the Balarian soldiers didn’t do a thing, completely in shock by the transformation of one of their guests into a blue dragon. The others, unsure of what to do but well trained, followed orders and attacked the Ulathan soldiers. The sound of combat permeated the room. The balcony above became another battleground as black-cloaked assassins from Seth’s order fought brown, leather-clad members of the thieves’ guild in a struggle for control of Balaria’s rulership.
The dragon appeared to curl its lips up into some sort of feral grin. The evil appearance sent a chill down Alyssa’s spine, and she pulled the Ulathan bow from off her back and nocked an arrow. She had rearmed herself from the Hammer’s armory before coming ashore. Taking aim, she loosed her first arrow at the dragon’s mouth as it opened and prepared to use its breath weapon, and Alyssa felt a tinge of satisfaction when her arrow sank into the beast’s tongue, eliciting a roar from the dragon for her efforts. Now, if Seth would arrive, she’d feel better. She didn’t have long to wait.
Seth dropped from the hidden trap door in the ceiling above the governor’s chair, hanging onto a large rope that snapped when his weight fell full against it, after a ten-foot drop. A large block of stone from the ceiling came down, smashing into the dragon’s snout, pinning it to the floor, and crushing the chair with Richtor’s lifeless body still in it. Azex, and the assassin’s order, had a backup plan in case a change in the ruling members of Balaria was ever necessary, and it wasn’t discreet, as the block of ceiling stone had to weigh a few tons, at the least.
Caesar ran for the side door as Makor stood and drew his own sword, looking up at Seth. “You will die for this, Sword Slayer,” Makor said, trying to jump and swing his sword at the same time in order to hit Seth in his legs from where he dangled at the end of the rope.
The Blue Dragon: A Claire-Agon Dragon Book (Dragon Series 2) Page 20