Kingsteel (The Dragonkin Trilogy Book 3)

by Michael Meyerhofer

  Zeia reined in as well. Though she had recovered a measure of her strength since her rescue, she was no match for Shade. “Doesn’t it bother you that we’re about to risk our necks to save Sylvs… quite possibly the same Sylvan captives we were fighting only a couple of weeks ago?”

  Shade shook his head and urged his horse onward. “Even in war, there are rules.”

  Zeia bit back a smirk. She remembered how she and a few others had made that same argument when Fadarah decided to forcefully transform imprisoned Isle Knights into near-mindless assassins, only to have Shade accuse them of being weak willed and naïve.

  Has Shade finally found his conscience?

  She considered how little time had passed since Shade killed his last opponent and decided it unlikely. “So what do we do with the Sylvs once we’ve dealt with Brahasti and his scum?” She half expected Shade to suggest they kill them.

  He shrugged. “That war is over. We lost. The prisoners can do what they like. If they can make it back to the forest, so be it.”

  “You really think a pack of beaten, half-starved women without weapons will have no trouble passing through a snowy land rife with murderous Humans?” Zeia almost laughed.

  “Are you suggesting we do nothing?”

  Zeia urged her horse until she was riding a little ahead of Shade’s. “I suggest we do the smart thing and head north, back to Coldhaven. Or have you forgotten all the other Shel’ai children who need protecting?”

  “I’ve forgotten nothing. We’ll make for Coldhaven once Brahasti’s dead and I’ve ground his ashes under my boot.”

  If we survive... “Then what? What about the Dhargots? Do you really think they’ll let you be after this?”

  Shade shrugged. “I killed a prince whose brothers already wanted him dead. Besides, I never told Ziraari where Coldhaven is.”

  Zeia glanced back at Shade in time to see him wince, as though he’d just realized an error. She wondered if he had told Ziraari more than he’d intended and if that wasn’t the real reason he’d killed the prince. The thought that Shade might have endangered the last few Shel’ai left enraged her, but she concealed this and made sure she’d walled off her mind, lest he try to read her thoughts. “Perhaps we should take the children elsewhere.”

  “Which children… the Shel’ai or the Sylvs?”

  She realized he must have been joking. “We could try Stillhammer again—”

  “Last time we were there, their king killed four of us and wounded six more, just for planting turnips in land nobody wanted.” Shade laughed coldly. “The Dwarrs are no better than the Sylvs we left behind.”

  “Humans, then,” Zeia suggested. “Not Dhargots, I know… and not the Isle Knights or any of the Free Cities after what we’ve done… but maybe we could head south. We never tried going to Quesh before. Maybe they would welcome us—or at least leave us alone.”

  But Shade was already shaking his head. “Too many enemies between here and there. One or two of us might make it that far, but not with children in tow.”

  “Sorocco, then.” Zeia thought of the dark-skinned sea merchants. Though rumored to be a superstitious people, they were so far removed from the rest of Ruun that they might not share the preconceived notions of the Shel’ai. Thinking of the Soroccans gave her an idea. “Or better yet, get a ship of our own and sail off somewhere?”

  Shade looked at her and scoffed. “Beyond the Dragonward? The Dhargots must have injured you more than I thought.”

  “Why not? The old Dragonkin are long gone… maybe even dead by now. Besides, we don’t need protecting from them, anyway. We need protection from the rest of Ruun!”

  She expected Shade to mock her, but his expression turned thoughtful. “Silwren suggested that once,” he said quietly.

  Zeia thought she saw a pang of nostalgia, even guilt, in his expression.

  “It’d never work, though. I don’t know any more about the sea than you do.”

  “Then we’ll hire someone who does. The Soroccans, even the Isle Knights—”

  “And go where? Sure, some say there are other continents out there, but we don’t know how far or how safe they’d be even if we reached them in one piece. For all we know, we might inadvertently sail to the same damn place the Dragonkin went after the Shattering War.”

  But Zeia was not about to give up. “So what if we did? The Dragonkin wielded magic, just as we do. They might greet us as allies.”

  Shade’s familiar look of derision returned. “Have you forgotten your fairytales, Sister? We were cattle to the Dragonkin. You know that as well as I do. Those of us they didn’t kill, they kept as slaves. We’d be better off dealing with King Loslandril.”

  “But that was centuries ago. The Dragonkin might have forgotten. Or maybe they changed. We certainly have.”

  Shade reined in his horse again. “Have we? I wonder.” Without waiting for her answer, he rode on.

  Fuming, Zeia followed. She played over the idea in her mind. Even if Shade vetoed her plan, the other Shel’ai might be persuaded. El’rash’lin’s way of peace had only seen them hunted down, driven from realm to realm as they searched for safety. Fadarah’s way had gotten most of them killed and earned them new enemies. In time, their little fortress on the Wintersea would be discovered. If they wanted to avoid extinction, leaving Ruun behind might be their last, desperate option.

  But for that, they would need Shade’s help. He was the strongest Shel’ai left. But the only way he might be persuaded to agree to her plan was if she first helped him succeed in his. She would have to help him kill Brahasti.

  And I hope he doesn’t change his mind and try to kill me before this is all over.

  Shaking her head, she fixed her thoughts on Brahasti. The thought of finally slaying that sadistic Dhargot pleased her. Besides, she knew they had little to fear. Brahasti might have Dhargothi bodyguards and maybe sellswords, but by the time she and Shade reached him, they would have recovered their full strength. Brahasti’s bodyguards wouldn’t stand a chance.

  Zeia continued riding north as the snowfall thickened around her.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Lyos

  Epheus leaned on the battlements of Lyos and lamented his new position as captain of the Red Watch. Though he had inherited the position more than a month before, after his predecessor was slain during the city’s pitched battle against Fadarah’s forces, Epheus still chafed at the tedium of daily reports and the politics of his meetings with the king, the various priesthoods, and, of course, the Isle Knights.

  Last week, he’d met with the most venerated clerics in Lyos, entertaining their frantic hopes that he might do something about all the people flocking to Cadavash to join that fanatical sect of dragon-worshippers. Epheus had listened then as calmly as he could, explained that he could do nothing. Worshippers of Zet and his dragons had been around for centuries. Epheus’s predecessor had complained about them, too. Thankfully, the devotees of the Dragongod seemed interested in harming only themselves, so Epheus was not about to get in their way. Besides, he had other concerns.

  Dignitaries from the Lotus Isles had been visiting Lyos so often since the attack that Epheus could hardly distinguish one from the other or remember when one left and another arrived. Officially, their mission was to assist in the reconstruction of the city and reassure King Typherius that the Lotus Isles had not forgotten their favorite protectorate, especially with dark rumors of the Dhargots drawing near. But Epheus knew the truth: the dignitaries had come to oversee the collection of taxes.

  Many Isle Knights had died in the battle. Lyos had paid a higher price, but the Order still expected the city to compensate the Isles for those heroic deaths with every coin they could spare—and plenty they could not. For that reason, Epheus—who did not have his predecessor’s tact—frequently had to remind himself that it wou
ld be inappropriate to have those dignitaries hung by their ankles from the city walls.

  The captain thought of Aeko Shingawa. She was different from the other Knights. Epheus sensed that she sympathized with the city’s plight—unlike Crovis Ammerhel. Epheus clenched his fist, remembering how Crovis—then leader of Lyos’s defenses—had taken most of his Knights and abandoned the city as it was being attacked from within, just so that he could claim credit for arresting a mass of men beyond who were already surrendering.

  Thanks to Aeko, Silwren, Rowen, and the late Captain Ferocles, the city was saved. But that didn’t prevent Epheus from imagining the pleasure he would derive from visiting his anger on Sir Crovis Ammerhel and every Knight and dignitary like him.

  Epheus shook his head as he felt his stomach rumble, as it often did when he got too worked up. To distract himself, he thought of Aeko, wondering where she had gone. Supposedly, she and the other Knights were looking for Rowen Locke, though whether they intended to help or arrest him depended on which rumor one believed.

  His stomach rumbled again. Epheus groaned, rubbing his chest as a nauseating tremor rose up through his throat. He leaned over the walls and spat. When he straightened, he noticed some of the men of the Red Watch staring at him. He forced himself to smile. “Too damn much of the quartermaster’s cheap ale!”

  The men laughed and returned to their duties. Epheus watched them work. The Red Watch oversaw trading in all of Lyos. As a sergeant, Epheus had hated the duty. He hated it even more now that he was captain. But it was still a crucial job.

  Despite the light snow dusting twin columns of wagons and carts, King’s Bend was as crowded as ever with travelers, traders, and, despite the sense of kinship felt by the people of Lyos after they repelled the Throng, thieves. Though gangs from the Dark Quarter had been crucial in the defense of Lyos, those gangs had hardly joined the priesthood afterward. Elements from the slums still lent their own special flavor to Lyosi trade, seeding the crowds with pickpockets, brawlers, unlicensed flesh traders, and drunks. Epheus appreciated that at least the gangs had all but eradicated flesh trade involving children, but keeping the gangs’ less honorable practices in check was still a full-time job. So the captain was none too pleased when commotion reached his ears.

  He waved over the battlements, catching the attention of a squad of Red Watch milling below. He pointed in the direction of a distant scream. They nodded, formed ranks, and started pushing through the crowd, even as new screams joined in the chorus.

  Epheus groaned. “Must be a damn gang fight.” He strained to see, but the commotion seemed to originate at the base of Pallantine Hill, where King’s Bend began. That put it close to the slums. He was tempted to just let the gangs of the Dark Quarter resolve the squabble, but crowds of screaming citizens began rushing up King’s Bend, flooding into the city, obscuring the path of the men he’d just sent to inspect the source.

  He turned to his junior officer. “This sounds bad. Get another squad up here.” The officer started to go, but Epheus grabbed his arm. The screams increased. “Make it two.” He shoved the officer on his way and turned back to the battlements.

  Epheus was familiar with the occasional bit of knife work wrought by the less savory elements of Lyos, but that usually involved just one or two opponents. Whatever was going on at the base of the hill was no simple knife fight.

  Epheus’s pulse quickened. He’d spoken to King Typherius about the Dhargots only last evening. All reports insisted that they were wintering at Cassica, far from Lyos. They had raided the surrounding villages and farmlands but kept their distance from the city. Surely, they would not send a company to slaughter Lyosi civilians when such an action would result in said company being annihilated by the Red Watch. Then again, when was the last time in the last year that one of our many illustrious enemies did something that made sense?

  Epheus sighed and drew his sword. “Let’s get down there and knock some heads before this gets out of hand.” Guardsmen followed. Epheus considered heading down King’s Bend on foot, but the growing commotion convinced him to make for the stables. Mounting his horse, he ordered the guardsmen nearest him to do the same. Then, a dozen in number, they started off.

  Though she made sure her appearance spoke to the contrary, Igrid still felt uncomfortable in the King’s Market. It wasn’t the roiling crowds or the handful of pickpockets moving among the populace—she probably knew their tricks better than they did. She wasn’t afraid of being attacked, either. In the city proper, with the Red Watch close by and a pair of stilettos concealed in her sleeves, she was about as safe as one could be.

  She knew it was important that she be seen. If she ever wanted to open a tavern or brothel of her own, she would need friends in Lyos. Thanks to the coin paid to her by Arnil Royce, she was well on her way, but she wasn’t there yet. For that reason, she’d taken care to learn the names of the local noblemen and city officials and smile accordingly. Despite the chill in the air, present even in the warmer climate of Lyos, she’d chosen a clingy gown that showed off the curves afforded her by a dash of Dwarrish blood in her ancestry. She wore her long red curls past her shoulders—red hair was a prized rarity in these parts.

  But as she moved through the tables and vendors, stopping sometimes to pretend to study an object for sale, she constantly had to stave off the urge to turn and run away.

  What’s wrong with me?

  Discomfort turned to self-directed rage, but she concealed it by smiling and examining a golden, diamond-crusted broach. She held it up to the light and nodded, even though a quick look confirmed her suspicion that it was a fake.

  “A fine piece from Syros, m’lady,” the vendor said. “Just the thing for a beautiful creature such as yourself.”

  Igrid offered him a crooked smile. “Syros, eh? Last I heard, they’d just begun to recover from the thrashing the Nightmare gave them when the Dhargots swept in and burned everything that was left.”

  The vendor blinked then smiled. “All the more reason to buy such a rare piece, while you still can. The Syrosi jewelers may have gone to the gods—” He paused to glance reverently at the sky. “But their art remains.”

  Quick recovery. Igrid set the broach back down, bowed, and walked away. While pretending to study the vendors’ wares, she studied the crowds, searching for someone she should flirt with, but a sinking feeling began to grow in the pit of her stomach, stronger than ever. She wondered if it was because she’d mentioned the Nightmare. Had that, in turn, reminded her of Rowen?

  Speaking of red-headed fools wandering in circles…

  Igrid swore, startling a merchant who happened to be walking beside her. He blushed at her attire. Bowing, he stepped back, believing he’d offended her somehow. Igrid forced a smile again. She stopped at a table and ran a fur-lined jacket between her fingers, even as she resisted the impulse to draw one of her stilettos, just so she could feel its reassuring heft.

  Stop thinking about Rowen. The fool’s probably dead by now, anyway—and his wytch with him.

  The thought of Silwren rekindled Igrid’s anger. The famous Shel’ai-turned-Dragonkin had magicked Igrid away from Rowen after Igrid had tried to steal Knightswrath—the wytch had probably also told Rowen what she’d tried to do. Igrid could not puzzle out why, but the thought of that dumb, trusting Isle Knight being disappointed in her was maddening.

  Igrid shook her head, inadvertently answering the question of the street vendor who was trying to sell her the fur jacket she’d just been inspecting. She decided to seek out the quartermaster of the Red Watch. She’d been speaking with the man lately, and while Igrid strongly suspected the man’s nightly interests precluded her gender, he might still be an ally in helping her gain access to Captain Epheus. Once she had that, she might try to gain the favor of King Typherius himself.

  Of course, if I wanted to gain favor more quickly, I could just
tell them I’m friends with their precious heroes!

  Igrid grimaced. She’d said nothing to anyone in Lyos about her companionship with Rowen Locke and Silwren, the two figures who had helped save Lyos the last time it was threatened. Though she suspected that doing so might gain her all the favor and credit she needed to see her business plans come to fruition, the thought of feigning friendship with those two made her skin crawl.

  Why is it that whenever I tell myself to stop thinking about something, that’s the very thing I think about ten seconds later?

  Forcing her thoughts to clear, she made her way toward the gray battlements looming in the distance. She suspected she would find the quartermaster at the nearby barracks, though she also toyed with the idea of strolling outside the city, to the lesser market along the road that ran from the base of Pallantine Hill to the walls of Lyos. Gang leaders from the Dark Quarter were known to frequent that road, and they, too, could be powerful allies.

  Igrid was still contemplating this, nearing the gates of Lyos, when she heard the first scream. Reflexively, she unsheathed one of the stilettos from her sleeve. She crouched, ready to defend herself, but realized a split second later that the scream had originated well beyond the walls. Just as quickly as she’d drawn her blade, she replaced it.

  Luckily, no one seemed to have noticed her. The Red Watch tensed, even as the citizens milling about the gates of Lyos looked bewildered. Confusion turned to fear when the scream was followed by another then another. Igrid considered hurrying back to her room at the inn. Surely, this was gang business, best left to Captain Epheus.

  Nevertheless, when a squad of Red Watch mounted horses—led by Captain Epheus himself, his face pinched with worry—Igrid touched the hilt of her stiletto and hurried to follow.