You must have faith in yourself, Kanin said, speaking to both of them. You must believe you can do this, Aralye, that you are ready. If you do not allow yourself to believe, you will not succeed. The hatchling destined for you is here.
Aralye took a deep, shuddering breath and tried again, taking another step, then a second. Her lips parted in a soundless whisper, then she cocked her head slightly, turning. Khollo held his breath, wondering if she had heard something.
Then, his momentary hope faded as she turned away, preparing to move on. Before she could take a step though, she swung back, gasping, and pointed to a lower alcove.
“That one,” she breathed. “I felt it.”
Khollo followed her pointing finger and his heart lurched. In the alcove was a small, purple egg, hardly half the size of the others that had hatched.
“Are you sure?” he asked. Then, the young Keeper cursed himself soundly for bringing up doubts again, even before Kanin gave him a blistering reprimand of his own.
Aralye nodded, eyes still closed. “Yes.”
Khollo took a deep breath. “All right. Open your eyes, and place the egg on the stone table.”
The girl opened her eyes slowly, looking down at the alcove she had identified. “It’s a little small,” she observed doubtfully. “Is . . . will the dragon . . . ?”
“Only one way to find out,” Khollo said, shrugging. Kanin rumbled in agreement.
Aralye bit her lip, then scooped up the undersized egg carefully and set it in the center of the stone table. For a long, awful moment, nothing happened. Then, a single hairline crack split the nearest face of the egg. The cracks began to spiderweb across the surface, growing denser and denser. Then, a roughly circular piece in the top of the shell wobbled and lifted out. A small, purple head emerged, the section of shell balanced on the very top.
“Oh!” Aralye murmured in awe. “No, come back!” she added as the head ducked back down into the egg. The girl leaned over the table, reaching for the egg.
Khollo! Kanin warned.
Khollo lunged and knocked Aralye flat, below the edge of the stone table. They landed hard on the stone floor, but they managed to get out of the line of fire as the egg exploded with just as much force as the others had and shell fragments pinged off the wall.
The young Keeper groaned. He had landed mostly on top of Aralye, but he had still managed to bang his left shoulder against the floor. “Sorry,” he said, “The others have all done the same thing. I should have realized sooner . . . but this little one caught me by surprise. Are you all right?”
“I’ll live,” Aralye grunted, rubbing her head and wincing.
Khollo stood and offered a hand to help her up, but before the girl could rise a purple blur streaked over the side of the table and pounced, landing on her chest and squeaking triumphantly. Khollo froze, not wanting to interfere, as Aralye and the newly hatched dragon communicated for the first time.
“Her name is Ayrmi,” Aralye said, looking up at Khollo. The little purple dragon twisted around to look at Khollo, and he finally got a good look at the little creature. It was small, yes, but appeared healthy enough. All of its legs and wings looked to be attached properly, and it moved around well.
“Ayrmi,” Khollo repeated. “A good name. A good hatching,” he added, grinning. “Four new dragons, and no disasters!”
“Ayrmi says she’s hungry,” Aralye interrupted. “Or, rather, she feels hungry. I’m not sure she really says anything yet.”
Khollo laughed. “I imagine they’re all hungry after being stuck in a shell for so long. Let’s get everyone back to the holds to celebrate. You’re a Keeper now, Aralye, well done!”
The newest Keeper got to her feet shakily, helping Ayrmi move to a shoulder perch. “I was starting to think this wouldn’t happen,” she said quietly, “I almost gave up.”
“But you didn’t,” Khollo said encouragingly. “You prevailed despite the odds.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “But what if I hadn’t? What if I wasn’t good enough?”
There is no sense in dwelling on that, Kanin rumbled. You must learn to believe in yourself. Today was a start, but you have a long way to go.
“You’re always so confident and in control,” Khollo added. “Unless . . . well, there was that time on the boat. And then again today.”
Aralye flushed and looked away. Ayrmi crooned encouragingly and rubbed her head against the girl’s neck.
“I’m in control when I know what I’m doing,” she said finally, her voice low and hoarse. “When I know I have the skills I need. Hunting. Tracking. Dealing with Sven and L’tel. But choosing a dragon, sailing across the sea, those are new things, things I’ve never dreamed of doing before.”
“We’ll have to work on that,” Khollo decided. “But remember this, you wouldn’t be here if Kanin and I didn’t believe in you. And Ayrmi hatched for you, so clearly you’re doing something right.”
“What are you saying?” she asked, looking back and forth between them quickly.
We are all with you, always, Kanin explained. Next time you doubt, remember this and take comfort in it. It is not added pressure, but support. You can always rely on us, and on Ayrmi.
Ayrmi chirped in agreement, then nosed at Aralye insistently. The girl smiled tentatively, then glanced at Khollo. “She agrees with Kanin, but she’s also hungry.”
Khollo grinned. “We should go ahead and fix that problem then. It’s never good to have a clutch of hungry dragons on your hands. Back to the holds! Tonight, we celebrate!”
Chapter 25:
Council and Counsel
It was a circle of extremely nervous faces that greeted Relam as he took his customary seat in the council room. The assembled regents stared back at their king solemnly, each of them on the edge of their seat. Relam maintained a carefully neutral expression, sitting upright in his chair and doing his best to exude confidence.
“Let’s get started,” he said after a moment. “First, some good news. Another week has gone by and we have heard nothing more from this Council of Masks.”
The others nodded gravely, though most bore concerned frowns.
“Second,” Relam added, “Knet tells me the operation in the Sabashrin was a massive success. The desert raiders were wiped out or captured to a man. Four prisoners were taken and are being held in Jalakash. They will be interrogated soon enough, and the results of the interrogations sent by message pigeon.”
“Not by courier?” Sebast asked. “That would be more reliable.”
“And why let someone in Jalakash interrogate them?” Delan added. “Is there even anyone in that city of desert savages we can trust? Anyone we know?”
“The captain I’ve been working with is trustworthy,” Knet assured them, glancing at Relam. “As far as why we’re not doing the interrogation, we were concerned that bringing the captives to Etares would also bring them to the council’s attention.”
“Ah,” Sebast said knowingly. “And a courier is easy to ambush along the way, right?”
“Yes,” Relam agreed, “Much harder to catch a bird in flight.”
“What about the receiver?”
“The message will come straight to the palace,” Relam replied, “I’ve given them authority to use the emergency bird.”
“That’s drastic,” Cevet murmured, “Those are only supposed to be used in the most dire of circumstances, when the king must be informed immediately.”
“I know,” Relam said grimly. “It also means if Jalakash sees additional trouble, they won’t have their best means of contacting us. But I think it is worth the risk.”
“The south is stable, otherwise,” Delan mused. “There’s been almost no trouble from that region. Remarkable after what happened last winter.”
“Keep an eye on it,” Cevet warned, “The South is one area where we don’t want to get complacent.”
“Sebast, how are the Heights looking?” Relam asked, moving on.
The lordling scowled. �
�We were right, someone’s meddling with the Mizzran situation. I have contacts who have spoken with the miners. They’ve repeatedly requested meetings with some of the leading nobles, but they’ve all been refused. I had an administrator discreetly look into Mizzran’s finances as well. Despite all the lost profit from the mines not being worked, there is still an unusual amount of wealth flowing freely in the cities. The nobility has hardly missed a beat.”
“I don’t suppose the records could tell us where this money is coming from?” Delan asked, rolling his eyes.
“They can’t,” the Garenes heir agreed. “But we know it’s not coming from Mizzran.”
“The council again,” Cevet muttered. “And we know where they’re getting their money. The underworld.”
“Can’t do anything about it though,” Jatt grunted. “We’d be caught. Who knows what would happen then?”
“Not you,” Delan muttered.
“Not any of us,” Relam corrected.
“If we did cut off the source of their wealth – ”
“There’s no telling how much they have stored up, Cevet,” Relam pointed out. “We could be risking an awful lot for not much reward. I can’t allow that.”
Cevet frowned. “We can’t just keep letting the Masks dictate to us, Relam. It plays right into their hands.”
“They wanted to scare us into doing nothing,” Delan agreed. “And they got what they want. Look at us! We don’t breathe without thinking about whether it will give the game away anymore.”
“Only a fool wouldn’t be worried,” Sebast snapped. “Besides, Relam’s life is at stake here, and Cevet’s too if he’s seen interfering again.”
“What about Narin?” Delan shot back. “He’s still working his contacts, isn’t he?”
“He has more practice,” Relam replied confidently. “Remember, he was supposedly dead last year and still did a great job of gathering information. He practically lived in the underworld during that time.”
“Not much to show for it right now though,” Cevet muttered bitterly. “Anyone with any sense has clammed up. If we ever get a lead on the Masks, it will be because they wanted us to.”
“Nothing turning up on the tails either?” Sebast asked. “Aren’t some servants and house staff being tracked still?”
“Yeah,” Cevet confirmed, “We’ve got a half-dozen who are definitely shady. Hard to tell to what degree.”
“It’s not like they’re just going to walk up to someone wearing a gold mask in broad daylight and start discussing business,” Sebast observed drily. “There’s probably several layers between them.”
“And that’s what we’re sorting through now,” Cevet agreed. “Or, it’s what Narin is sorting through. I’m out of operations for the time being.”
“For good,” Relam grunted. “You’re not risking yourself again, Cevet. I’m not going to have you turn up dead in an alley like Bannen did last year.”
“Still, we should be doing something,” Cevet protested. “We can’t sit back!”
“Cevet’s right!” Delan agreed. “Look, Relam, unless we find out who’s behind all of this, we can’t win. We’re just stuck here waiting for the end of their game to play out. And that’s no way to live.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Relam growled, “They’ve told me I’m going to die, just not when or how. Do you think that’s comforting? Do you think it’s not keeping me up at night, trying to find a solution?”
“I’ve got one,” Knet interjected. “Run away. Go find someplace they wouldn’t bother trying to reach us.”
“Where? The Sthan kingdom rules the world,” Sebast pointed out.
“No one would bother us in the north – ” Knet began.
“Because we’d be frozen solid,” Jatt muttered darkly.
“ – and the Keepers have an island, don’t they?” the nervous lordling asked.
“Which we’ve promised to stay off of,” Relam reminded him. “And besides, we’re not running. We’re going to stay, and we’re going to keep quietly chipping away at this. We should at least wait until the interrogations are over before trying anything drastic. In the meantime, keep your eyes and ears open.” Relam paused, looking around the table at each of them, finishing on Cevet. “And don’t take any foolish risks.”
The lordlings muttered their assent, then got to their feet and left one by one. The moment they were gone, Relam’s personal guards entered the room.
“Palace is secure, sir,” Galen reported. “Eckle reports all guards have checked in with nothing unusual.”
“Again,” Relam muttered. “The Masks weren’t kidding when they said they weren’t going to kill me by conventional means. They’re waiting for something.”
“Aye,” Wil agreed helpfully. “Any idea what it is, sir?”
“No,” Relam growled, thumping his fist against the table. “That’s the worst part, I think. The fact we have no idea what is coming, and are just waiting for our enemies to act.”
“We’ll be ready regardless, sir,” Eric promised. “It won’t matter what they throw at us.”
“Sure it will,” Johann interrupted. “If they throw an army at us four, we’ll be dead.”
“Armies are conventional, Johann,” Wil pointed out. “Besides, who sends an army to kill four people?”
“Someone who wants to be really sure the job gets done? I mean, last year the king fought his way through the whole Citadel and struck down D’Arnlo himself.”
“Oreius, Tar, and Yavvis defeated D’Arnlo,” Relam corrected. “I just watched. And no one struck him down, he jumped off the tower.”
“Same thing, really,” Johann replied.
“Not remotely,” Relam muttered, trying to tune the guard out.
“Sir, where are we going next?” Galen asked, speaking over Johann’s next words.
“I don’t know, Galen,” Relam groaned, “I need to think. Just give me a moment.”
“Yes, sir.”
The guards withdrew to the far side of the room, leaving Relam to contemplate events without distractions. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to release some of the tension that was constantly building within him.
Living with a death threat looming over him was taking an even greater toll than the burden of being king had. He couldn’t sleep at night, couldn’t go anywhere during the day, and he had to be constantly on the watch for an attack. And he had nothing to show for the last two weeks. Any hope they had left rested on what little progress Narin was making, and whatever message came on the fragile wings of the Jalakash pigeon.
Relam sighed. That message was going to be the key. If nothing came out of the interrogations, then they were still stuck. Maybe they would have to find another outlaw group to raid. But it would take more time, and give the Masks more opportunities.
The young king stood abruptly and went to the door. His guards immediately surrounded him, hands resting on their weapons. “We’re going to Oreius’ house,” Relam announced, jerking the door open forcefully.
“Out into the city?” Eric asked, frowning. “Your majesty, that may not be wise.”
“Remember, Eric, we are guarding against the unconventional. I think it is quite safe for me to walk through the city to the house of an old friend.”
“Safer for one of us,” Galen grunted. “We could bring him back here to meet with you.”
“No, you couldn’t,” the young king replied, grinning ruefully. “Oreius loves his garden, and his house. He is content there, and is not about to stir himself just because the king wants to talk.”
“No, he’d come because you want to talk,” Wil explained. “See, you’re more than a king to him. He trained you, mentored you, fought alongside you – ”
“Multiple times,” Eric added. “And he came to the palace just a couple of weeks ago, in the middle of the night. If you summon him, I know he’ll come.”
Relam shook his head. “Maybe. But I’d rather go to him.”
�
�Sir, it’s gone cold out.”
“Then I have a good excuse to wear a heavy cloak as a disguise,” Relam growled at Galen. “Regardless, I am going to see Oreius. I want his thoughts on this issue.”
“He’s a sword master,” Eric said doubtfully, “Not an assassin or a spy or a criminal. What would he know of the underworld, or about the Council of Masks?”
“I’m not going to find out what he knows,” Relam explained, leading them through the palace. “I’m going to find out what he thinks. He’ll have suspicions about what’s coming, I’m sure of it.”
“Suspicions get us nowhere.”
“No, sitting here gets us nowhere. Suspicions give us a place to start looking,” Relam replied.
He led the guards to his office first, where he retrieved a heavy fur-lined cloak. He gave his desk a cursory glance to see if Clemon had left anything for him, but it was bare of paperwork. Just as he had left it before the meeting with the other regents. The sight of the clean desk brought a slight smile to Relam’s face as he rejoined his guards in the hall. He could remember all too well the days when not even a fraction of the wooden surface had been visible.
After the brief stop at his office, Relam navigated back through the palace to a servant’s entrance which let out onto an alley adjoining the River Road. It had become his habit over the last two weeks to vary his routes to and from the palace, trying to throw off any traps the Masks might be trying to set for him.
The habit had been forced on him by Galen, as had many other new security strategies. The guard had taken the threats against Relam’s life personally, and was constantly striving to stay one step ahead of their mysterious enemies. Relam humored him for the most part, except when he was being a little too overzealous.
They reached the River Road after only a few moments outside the palace. The road was clogged with people, all bundled up like Relam and his guards, all trying to carry out their daily tasks despite the cold and the blustery winds. Relam studied the faces of the people he passed, wondering if they knew what was going on. If they knew their king was being threatened by a group of criminals, if they knew he was merely biding his time on the throne, waiting for the final stroke to come. Did they have any idea the danger the kingdom was in? Did they know what happened in the great halls of the nobles and in their dangerous political circles?
The Captive Page 33