Dragon Call (The Throne of the Dragon Queen Book 2)

by Clare Smith

  Sillyon frowned. It would be easy enough to get Rabayan in and out, but where would that leave him? “What’s in it for me?”

  It was Rabayan’s turn to frown; perhaps Sillyon wasn’t as stupid as he’d thought. “I have a warning for you which will save your life and many other lives if you and your fellow Superiors take heed of it.”

  “What warning?”

  “When the Passonians have burnt the Enclave to the ground and you have used your knives on those who remain, the Superiors will be the next to die.”

  Sillyon laughed. “Don’t be such a fool, Rabayan. What would the Passonians do without us?”

  “Quite a lot actually. When New Passonia rises from the ashes of old Assimus, there won’t be room for the Superiors as their sons will take over your role.”

  Sillyon laughed again, only a little more nervously this time. “And who is going to do this dreadful dead? I can’t see the Masters getting their hands dirty, and all the guards report to the Superiors and would do what we ordered them to do.”

  “No they don’t. From what I’ve heard the city guards report to Gannard, and he’s Cavanagh’s man. The other guards and the overseers who have come to Phillos report to the provincial lords who have no love of our kind, and are in on the whole thing. When they turn against you, the Superiors will be outnumbered a hundred to one and you will all die.”

  “I don’t believe you, the Passonians would never turn against us; we have served them too faithfully and for too long for them to betray us.”

  “Have it your own way, Sillyon, but at least talk it over with the other Superiors and let them have their say. Now I have given you the warning, so it’s your turn to get me in and out of the tower.”

  Sillyon shrugged; he could do that all right and it would give him the chance to think about Rabayan’s crack-pot theory and what he should do about it. “A bargain is a bargain, so I will get you in there, only I will have to change the guard rota so the way is clear for you. Stay here until an hour before sunset and then make your way to the tower where I’ll be waiting for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t thank me until you’re in and out of the place with whatever it is you want.”

  Sillyon stood and without bothering to say goodbye, picked up his lamp and left. Rabayan listened to the Superior and his accompanying troop of guards march away from the warehouse and heaved a sigh of relief. Now he had a way to get into the Dragon Tower, and all he needed to do was find a way out when Sillyon changed his mind and tried to arrest him. It was a tricky problem, but he was at least ten times more intelligent than Sillyon so he would think of something.

  *

  He hadn’t realised just how crowded Phillos was until he left the warehouse district and started to make his way towards the Dragon Tower and the centre of the city. His memories of Phillos after sunset were pleasant ones. As he recalled there had been tree lined streets heavy with the scent of roses where a few Passonians strolled with their families enjoying the evening air. Sometimes a Superior would pass by and bow in respect before continuing their journey homewards, but there would have been very few others about.

  There were the markets of course, which would have been far busier, but by now nearly all of those would be in the process of closing down, and most of the carts would have already left the city. In their place a number of inns and eating houses would be opening their doors, lighting lanterns and placing tables and chairs outside for their well bred clientele. Once everything was prepared, the Passonians and the occasional Superior would come to eat in peace, knowing every Assimusian was safely locked away in the Enclave.

  That hadn’t changed as there were still no Assimusians on the streets after dark, but that was about the only thing which had remained the same. Now, instead of Passonians sauntering along the quiet streets, there were groups of guards in the colours of the six provinces milling around, blocking the walkways and leaning up against the trees. They were loud and rowdy and were obviously looking for a good time.

  In amongst them were overseers in their dark clothes, some of whom were trying to usher the guards back to their make-shift barracks which had been erected in the market squares. It was an almost impossible task, and clearly many of the overseers had given in. They were the ones who now sat drinking ale and flagons of cheap wine outside the eating houses which seemed to have doubled in number overnight.

  There were Superiors there too, backed up by the city guard and trying to keep some order and occasionally marching forward to break up a fight or escort a Passonian safely through the crowd. In all the years he’d lived in Phillos, which was most of his life, he’d never seen anything like it, and wondered if after the Enclave had been destroyed, it would ever be able to return to the city he knew so well. It was unlikely, but in all honesty he didn’t care that much, as he doubted he would be staying around there to see what happened.

  For now though the crowds suited his purpose, and he slipped in amongst them without being noticed. It was taking him longer than he’d anticipated, but it was a simple enough matter to go along with the mob, moving from one group to another but always heading towards the centre of the city. No one took any notice of him, although he occasionally received an irritated glance from someone he pushed a bit too hard in a direction they didn’t want to go.

  The trick was to keep to the thickest part of the crowd and out of sight of the Superiors who might recognise him. He managed it quite well, except for once when he was trying to insinuate himself in amongst a group of overseers who jabbed him in the ribs and told him to bugger off. He’d stumbled out of the crowd and had almost tripped over a Superior, but fortunately the man had been busy shouting orders to a squad of guards and had barely given him a second glance.

  He’d hoped that the milling crowd would have taken him right up to the door of the Dragon Tower so he could just slip inside. However, the looming presence of the ancient building had obviously intimidated people and kept them away as the large, cobbled area around it was deserted. After being shielded by the anonymity of the crowd he now felt vulnerable stepping into the open, and stopped for a moment to check that the Moonstone Blade was still in place and easy to reach.

  Feeling a little more confident he stepped out of the shadows and hoped that the only person who was taking any notice of him was the guard at the tower’s door. He expected the man on duty to be one of the city’s guards, but was surprised to find that it was Sillyon, dressed in a guard’s uniform, who didn’t look at all pleased.

  “Where have you been?” Sillyon hissed as Rabayan stopped beside him.

  “I’m sorry, the streets are very crowded and it took me longer to get here than I’d anticipated.”

  “You should have left sooner then.” Sillyon snapped and then fumbled in his pocket and brought out the key and opened the door to the tower. “You’d better hurry as there isn’t much time left before the guard changes and, whatever you do, keep the noise down as the Pyromaster and his blasted animals are inside.”

  Rabayan raised his eyebrows in surprise and went to ask what a Pyromaster was doing there and what sort of animals he had, but then changed his mind. If it came to it, he could deal with a Pyromaster, and it probably didn’t matter what the animals were because he could deal with those too. Instead he slipped inside and took the lantern from the peg on the wall in case he needed it later.

  It would have made his journey up the tower quicker if he’d had lantern light, but as there was someone living in the tower he thought it was best not to alert them to his presence by lighting his way. In any case, he wasn’t in that much of a hurry and the light wasn’t really necessary, as he’d walked up and down these stairs often enough to know where he was going. With a picture of the winding stairs in his mind, he pressed his left shoulder to the wall and started climbing, counting the steps as he went.

  When he’d passed the first two doors and had counted two hundred and thirty steps he stopped, reached out for the opposit
e wall and found the wooden door he was looking for. It took him a few seconds to find the latch, but when he lifted it and pushed on the door nothing happened. For a moment he thought that someone had fitted a new lock, but when he pushed again and lifted the door slightly it juddered open.

  He cursed as the bottom of the door scraped against some loose stones which were scattered around the doorway and then stuck again. In the silent tower the noise sounded as loud as an avalanche, and he wondered if someone had put the stones there on purpose. Kicking a few of them out of the way, he slipped through the narrow gap and closed the door behind him. The room was as black as pitch, so he lit the lantern with hands that shook slightly, held it up high and looked around him.

  Someone had clearly been in the room since he’d left, as instead of there being stacks of tables and chairs with a narrow path in between, someone had made a barrier and covered it over with old blankets. He squeezed past, cursing under his breath and just hoped that what he’d come for was still in the chest at the far end amongst the old junk which had been stored there.

  When he reached the chest, which stood against the wall, the lid was closed, which he took to be a good sign, but when he lifted it up and peered inside his heart dropped as the chest was completely empty. Like a fool he lowered the lantern into the chest just in case he’d missed something, and even waved his hand around inside the empty box before stepping back and staring at it. He’d come all this way and taken all this risk for nothing.

  There had once been a broach inside that he’d found on a shelf, and had put in a casket which he’d then placed in the chest for safe keeping. It wasn’t just any broach, but one made of silver with ruby eyes and exquisitely casted into the shape of a dragon. If a Passonian had found the forbidden item, the broach would have been melted down and recast, which is why he had hidden it, but a collector of rare Assimusian antiquities would pay a fortune for it.

  Now it was gone and he supposed that the Pyromaster who lived in the tower had destroyed the broach, or perhaps had even sold it for the coin it would fetch. For a moment he thought about searching the other rooms until he found it, but then shook his head and called himself a fool. It was time for him to look after himself, and that meant getting away from this place and out of Phillos as quickly as he could.

  With his mind made up he turned rapidly on his heel with his cloak sweeping the floor behind him. In the sudden draft something fluttered around his feet looking like large moths in the lantern light. The sudden movement was enough for him to stop and stare down at them. He was surprised to find moths in a sealed room, but when he picked one up he realised that it wasn’t a moth at all, but a torn scrap of parchment with large writing on it and what could have been part of an illustration in one corner.

  It looked vaguely familiar, so he picked up another piece and tried to fit the two together. They didn’t fit, but his curiosity was aroused so he searched around until he found a few more pieces and eventually came across the remains of what had once been a book cover. There wasn’t much left of it, as it had been chewed by an animal with very large teeth, which he hoped wasn’t a rat.

  Then it came to him that it might have been one of the animals the Pyromaster kept, and was glad that he’d decided against searching the other rooms where he might have bumped into it and ended up in the same state as the book. The creature, whatever it was, had made a good job of destroying it, but despite that, he could still recognise it as the book he’d read as a child. He’d kept it out of respect for the tutor he’d admired, and who had died in a riding accident for which he’d been partly responsible.

  He turned the book over in his hands remembering the look of accusation on his tutor’s face as he lay dying, and stopped as something caught his eye. It was the remains of the illustration which had been painted by hand on the cover of the book showing Mazaban the Mad cutting off a dragon’s head. He’d always thought it odd that a nation, which denied the existence of the mythical beasts, should allow books to be produced for the purpose of instruction, which showed their greatest king slaughtering a beast which didn’t exist.

  There wasn’t much left of this illustration apart from a hand which held a long, grey blade and most of a dragon’s head. That consisted of a long snout, large, saucer shaped eyes with bony ridges above them and two short, stubby horns on either side, whilst the neck and the rest of the body had been chewed off. Basically all that was left was a picture of a knife, which resembled the Moonstone Blade, and a skull which looked remarkably like something he’d seen in this very room.

  Still clutching the remains of the book, he moved back to the chest and the row of shelves which stood beside it, and there it was. He must have seen the skull a dozen times, but had always thought that it belonged to an oversized rat or some other similar creature which had died out centuries before. In a way he’d been right; the creature had become extinct, but instead of it being a giant rat he knew now for certain that it was the skull of a dragon.

  He could see it clearly now, and could almost imagine the scales which covered the bones and the large eyes with their elliptical irises. If he had any further doubts about its identity the long, razor sharp teeth expelled them. The only problem was the size of the skull, which if it was attached to a body in the same proportion would make the dragon the size of a large hunting dog.

  That didn’t fit in well with what he knew about dragons, or with the story of the heroic Mazaban killing the last of the giant beasts. It didn’t matter though, as dragons weren’t even meant to exist in the first place. What did matter was that this looked to be part of a dragon, and perhaps Poddorrin could use it to summon the dragon spirits he’d been trying to call. After all, there couldn’t be anything closer to a dragon than a dragon’s skull.

  If he took this back to the Dragon Watch, Poddorrin couldn’t fail to summon the dragon spirits which could then be used to destroy the Passonians and all they stood for. With the Masters gone, the Assimusians would rule once again and he would be the nation’s hero, who they would shower with gold and honours. He stopped there and wondered what on earth he was doing even considering such a thing. If the Assimusians ever gained their freedom they would want their revenge on their persecutors, and he would be amongst the first to die.

  It was his wretched conscience of course trying to override his common sense. He would be far better off if he just left the skull on the shelf and let events take their natural course, rather than giving the relatives of those he had tortured and killed the means of getting their own back. After all, he’d already done his upmost to help the boy, and if that hadn’t worked out then it wasn’t his fault.

  He turned away but then another thought struck him. If Poddorrin could call the dragons to him, they would lead him to the gold, and with enough gold he could escape from Assimus and go anywhere he wanted. Ahead of him he could see the life of luxury he’d always dreamed of, with him living as a lord in a grand house a long way from anyone who once knew him as Superior Rabayan, the interrogator and executioner.

  Before he could become that person he needed to get the dragon’s skull back to Poddorrin on Fire Mountain, and that wasn’t going to be easy. The streets were crowded with people, and the last thing he need was to carry the skull in full view, so that half the population of Phillos would point at him and scream their heads off. To avoid that he had to disguise the skull so that no one recognised what it was he was carrying, so he looked around for something to wrap it in.

  He hadn’t noticed it before, but someone or something had made a sort of nest from blankets underneath a table, and on top of it was just what he needed. It was a garment of some sort which looked a bit like a sack but was open at both ends. He quickly tied one end into a knot and dropped the skull into it being careful to keep his hands away from its sharp teeth.

  The improvised sack was a garish green with sequins sewn onto it and was a bit bright for his needs, but apart from the blankets, which were too bulky, there was nothing els
e which would do. Still, once he’d tucked it under his arm, adjusted its position so he could reach his knife and covered it with his cloak, it was pretty well hidden. He picked up the lantern, looked around the store room one last time to make sure there was nothing else there of value, and let himself out.

  He’d no idea how long it had taken him to reach the room and come away again with the bundle, but he guessed it had been more than a few minutes. By now Sillyon would be getting anxious, and if the man was going to betray him, which he was certain he would, then it would probably happen as soon as he stepped out of the door. It was likely that the guards Sillyon had at his command would be close by just waiting for his signal, so he needed to be prepared.

  With the probable confrontation only seconds away, it seemed pointless descending the stairs in the dark in case it woke the Pyromaster. Instead he held the lantern up as high as he could, leaned his shoulder against the wall to help him keep his balance and set off down the stairs at a run. When he reached the vestibule at the bottom, Sillyon was waiting for him with a look of thunder on his face.

  “Where the bloody hell have you been?” he snapped, glaring at Rabayan and the bundle under his arm.

  “It’s a long way to the top of the tower,” replied Rabayan pleasantly, “and then I had to search around to find what I was looking for.”

  “Is that it?”

  Rabayan hesitated. If he said it was then Sillyon would want to see it, and he could guess what his reaction would be when he saw the dragon’s skull leering at him. The man would probably start shouting and screaming about traitors and accusing him of being an Assimusian lover, which would bring the guards down on his head. Instead he needed something to keep the man quiet whilst he escaped and he had just the thing.

  “Yes and this too.” He pulled the Moonstone Blade from its sheath and held it out so Sillyon could see how the grey metal seemed to flow like oil in the lamp light.

  Sillyon gasped in surprise and awe and understood why Rabayan would put himself in such danger to retrieve something like that from the tower. “What is it?”