“What?” Marta clutched at her apron. “Why?”
“To start a war.” It was the duke who answered her. “A war they know they can win, because they have turned our greatest weapon against us.”
The duchess sat beside me, patting my hand. The girl offered her tea as well, and the duchess took the thick mug with graceful thanks, as though it were the finest palace china. The duke, meanwhile, told a wide-eyed Marta and a silent Ulfrid the rest of the story.
“I’d like to black both her eyes,” Marta said in a fierce voice.
A movement caught my eye, and I turned to see Tobin standing at the door to the kitchens, his head back in his silent laugh. Marta blushed scarlet, and looked down at her clenched hands, relaxing them with an effort.
“Ah, Tobin!” The duke slapped one hand on the table. “What news?”
I thought this a rather odd question, considering that Tobin couldn’t answer, other than to make faces or maybe a few signals with his hands. Tobin began to make a series of quick and complex gestures. I had seen him do this before, but hadn’t realised the extent of his “vocabulary”, or that anyone besides Ulfrid and Luka understood it. The duke, Ulfrid, and even Marta followed the motions with nodding heads, as though it made some sense to them.
“So Prilian has delivered an ultimatum?” The duke stroked his chin and squinted. “What is it he wants?”
More gestures from Tobin, a gasp from Marta.
“No lack of ambition, eh?” The duke gave a mirthless chuckle, his expression dark.
“What did he say?” The duchess prodded her husband’s arm, her brow creased.
“Prilian is demanding no less than the throne of Feravel. He marched into the council chamber with an armed guard just after the dragons attacked the New Palace. Apparently the Roulaini army has been mobilised for weeks: they’ve been trickling towards our border a regiment at a time, moving only at night, and now they’ve crossed over in full force. If we don’t surrender, what the dragons don’t burn the Roulaini army will.”
“I can’t believe it!” The duchess chewed her lower lip. “It’s madness! What are they planning to do, burn us all to death? What would they have to gain?”
“A very large country of very submissive peasants,” I said bitterly.
“Yes, but why?”
“Because Prilian wants what every king of Roulain has wanted since Milun the First’s crushing defeat: Feravel,” the duke said. “They aren’t content with taxing our furs and gold and other exports. They want them for their own, and –” The duke broke off. “What’s that?” He rose, and we all followed suit.
There was a scratching sound coming from the inn door.
Tobin and Ulfrid had their swords out before I could blink. Tobin glided over to the door and pressed one ear to it, holding out his free hand in a “stay” gesture to the rest of us. The maids all squeaked and pulled out carving knives and small daggers, and Marta had her dagger in hand as well.
“It sounds like –” I began, but was hushed by the duke.
“What is it?” he whispered to Tobin.
The noise continued: a scraping low against the door. It put me in mind of something. My first thought was dragons, but then it was replaced with a memory of my uncle’s old bird hound, begging to come in from the cold at winter.
“It sounds like a dog scratching!” I hissed.
Tobin shot me a look, then unbarred the door and peered out. First he looked up, then down, and gave a whoosh of surprised breath. He opened the door just a tad wider, and a tall but very narrow dog came slinking in.
He was white, with large black patches, and a long snout not unlike a dragon’s. He rushed to me at once, and licked my hand, leaning his considerable weight against my thighs.
“Azarte?” I laid a tentative hand on his head and he wagged his tail. “Is that you?”
“A friend of yours?” The duchess looked amused.
“He belongs to –” I stopped myself, then realised that they knew everything anyway. “He belongs to a dragon I know,” I finished. I sighed. “Poor Feniul. He’s quite harmless, sort of like a dithering old uncle. He doesn’t deserve what the Roulaini are doing.”
I scratched Azarte’s head and then moved down to his neck as he closed his eyes and let his tongue loll out of his mouth with happiness. My fingers encountered a wide collar of woven tapestry-work, and I scratched beneath it. Something slipped out of the collar and fell on the floor with a soft smack.
“What’s this?” Marta put down her dagger and picked up a folded square of paper.
She opened it to reveal a large, ragged sheet of parchment. Block letters the size of my hand had been printed on it in smudged charcoal.
“What does it say?” The duke leaned over, curious.
FOLLOW THE DOG.
“How odd! Who do you imagine wrote it?” The duke took the parchment from Marta and frowned at it.
“Feniul,” I breathed. Azarte’s tail wagged, pounding against the side of the table. “Feniul? Did Feniul send you?” More wagging. “Where’s Feniul, Azarte? Where is he, boy? Go find him!”
Grinning his toothy grin, the dog bounded to the door, woofing with joy that I had understood. I went after him, my heart pounding. Feniul!
“Wait a moment, there!” The duke, alarmed, hurried over to stop us. “We don’t know for certain who wrote this. That dog could be leading you into a trap!”
“But I know this dog,” I protested. “I’m sure that he was sent to help us. A dog can’t be manipulated with the slippers; I’ll wager Feniul sent him for help.”
Tobin gestured to me and Azarte, seeming to indicate that he was coming along, then opened the door for us to exit. Azarte, needing no invitation, leaped out the door. I followed, with Tobin just behind.
The street was eerily quiet. It was night-time, but compared to the noise and panic of before, the stillness was jarring. The windows of the shop across the street had been boarded up, but the ale house next door looked abandoned: the door left open wide and one window smashed.
“Hey! Who’s there?”
Azarte had run right into someone who was standing in the street outside the inn. Tobin stepped forward, sword drawn, then relaxed. It was Luka, tunic torn and face smeared with soot and dirt. I felt weak and the blood rushed in my ears to see him standing there unharmed.
“Tobin? Creel? Everyone all right?” He was leading a pair of horses.
“We have to follow that dog!” I pointed at Azarte, who had run a little way down the street and was now doubling back, prancing with impatience.
“What?” Luka gave me a concerned look, then glanced beyond me to Tobin. “Is she all right?”
“I’m fine,” I assured him. “But that dog belongs to a dragon I know. He had a note on his collar and he’s leading us to the dragon. I have to follow!” I reached out and took hold of the reins of one of the horses.
Tobin made some gesture that I didn’t pay attention to as I talked soothingly to Luka’s horse. I didn’t know how I was to ride in my stiffly embroidered skirt, but I would have to: walking the entire way was out of the question.
“Here.” Marta, who had followed us out of the door, anticipated my need. She came forward with her dagger drawn. “I’m sorry,” she said, and then she slashed open my outer skirt in the front and back, cutting neatly between the panels of embroidery. I felt faint at seeing all my hard work ruined, but pushed the feeling aside. More important matters were at hand. Marta offered me the dagger and I tucked it into my sash.
“Your Highness?” The duke came striding out of the inn. “Is King Caxel well?”
“He’s been taken to the caverns,” Luka said. Seeing the questioning look on my face, he explained, “The hill beneath the King’s Seat has quite a few natural caves. There are tunnels leading down from the palace to the caves, to hide the royal family in times of war. It’s stocked with enough food and water for three months.” He made a face. “Father tried to refuse, of course, but the council fo
rced him to go down. We’ll still be able to get word to him, through the guards.”
“And the crown prince? He is with your father?”
“No.” Luka turned to the duke, his expression grim. “Miles and his escort started for the caves after you three left. But word came just as my father was entering the tunnels that he never reached the caves, and his guard was found dead in a side passage.”
“The Roulaini,” the duke breathed. “They’ve kidnapped Prince Milun?”
“So it appears,” Luka agreed bleakly. “I slipped away to find Tobin. I thought that we could do some scouting, since I have no stomach for sitting idle underground.” He wrapped the reins of his horse around a clenched fist, then loosened them when his fingers started to turn dark.
“I need to follow that dog,” I said, feeling frantic. Azarte was pacing back and forth, making little yips from time to time. I understood his impatience completely.
“From what the scouts say, it appears that all the dragons are controlled by the Roulaini,” Luka said, putting one hand out to stop me as I tried (not very gracefully) to mount his horse.
“I don’t think this one is,” I insisted. “I think he sent this message because he needs our help, or can help us. I have to go.”
“Then I’m coming with you,” said Luka, and boosted me into the saddle.
“Fine, fine,” I said, distracted. Azarte had started down the street again and was waiting at the corner for us to catch up.
Luka swung up behind me and Tobin mounted the other horse. In the glow of burning buildings and the silver moonlight, the Duke and Duchess of Mordrel, Marta and Ulfrid bade us farewell, and we rode off after the leggy dog.
Feniul
It was daybreak when we arrived at the outskirts of Rath Forest. Shardas’s cave was deeper within, and I did not know the way there. Nor did I know where Feniul lived, for I had only seen him in the enchanted pool.
But it was not long after we had followed the dog into the cool darkness of the forest that our tired horses began to whicker and baulk. The temperature rose, and a gust of wind brought the odour of sulphur to my nose.
“Feniul?” I slithered down from the saddle, looking around eagerly. Azarte was standing nearby, wagging his tail and looking pleased with himself. “It’s me, it’s Creel.”
“Azarte! Good boy!” Feniul’s voice boomed and crackled from behind a tight cluster of aspens, and Azarte gave a bark of delight while the horses whinnied and rolled their eyes. Then Feniul’s great horned head emerged from the trees, and the horses went berserk.
Tobin and Luka dismounted quickly, but there was no way to calm the beasts. While Feniul dithered and apologised and Azarte romped and barked, the horses screamed and reared. Finally, Tobin and Luka simply let go of their reins, and the horses tore off in the direction of the King’s Seat.
“Really, I am so sorry,” Feniul said. “I didn’t mean to alarm your horses. I just wanted to talk to Creel.”
“Feniul!” I ran forward and laid a trembling hand on the end of his snout, ignoring Luka’s shout of warning. “I’m so glad you’re all right! I can’t believe that you aren’t under the slippers’ power, like Shardas …” My voice faded away. “I saw him, in the King’s Seat,” I forced myself to say.
“Yes, yes, it’s horrible!” Feniul’s head shook back and forth, and I noticed that he wore a strange sort of woven collar around his neck, just behind his head.
Luka came a little closer, but I could see that he was still tense, one hand on his sword hilt. Tobin held his naked sword in one hand, his eyes fixed on Feniul.
“How do we know this isn’t a Roulaini trick?” Luka asked with narrowed eyes.
“A trick? But I wouldn’t do that!” Feniul sounded genuinely shocked at the idea. “I’m not in league with the Roulaini! Oh, my, no!”
I could see that his eyes were clear of the dullness caused by the slippers’ coercion. His bearing, his speech, everything about him was unchanged. “How is it that you are not affected?” I asked.
“Well, for two days I felt very strange,” Feniul said, his words tumbling over one another. “Like I needed to fly east, but why would I do such a thing? There are too many humans in that direction! I tried to bespeak Shardas, but he didn’t answer, so I resisted the urge to go east and went to Shardas’s cave instead. When I left my caves, I saw other dragons flying towards the human city in broad daylight. It was very strange.
“Shardas was gone, but he had left a message in his pool for me, something I didn’t understand, about that alchemist who used to live in his caves, and you, and your shoes or some such. I was so upset, I could hardly follow it.”
“How was it that you managed to avoid the call?” Luka’s hand was on the hilt of his sword, but he had not yet drawn, as Tobin had.
“I almost didn’t,” the dragon admitted. “But I never fly in the daylight any more, it’s much too dangerous,” he told the prince with a self-deprecating expression. “I suppose my fear was even greater than the power of the slippers. I would be embarrassed, but I am too relieved. The message also said for me to put on this collar.” He blew smoke fretfully through his nostrils and a claw came forward to indicate the woven band around his neck. “Once I put it on, I didn’t feel the urge to fly east any more. So I sent Azarte to the King’s Seat to find Creel. That was in the message, too.”
“Let me see the collar,” I said, and Feniul obligingly lowered his head.
It was similar to the collar Azarte wore, only on a much larger scale. The threads of red and blue and grey and green had been clumsily knotted and woven: there were many mistakes in the pattern, dropped stitches and knots. But there was a beauty to it, all the same. The threads felt sticky, and when I raised my hand to my nose I caught the odour of sage and thyme, and other sharper things I could not name.
“What is it?” Luka came up beside me, still uncertain of the dragon, but close enough that he could see the collar, too.
“I don’t know. I think it’s some sort of alchemy. A charm to counteract the slippers, maybe.”
“Are there more of these collars?” Luka, his expression intense, looked from me to Feniul and back.
“No, I didn’t see any others,” rumbled the dragon. “But then, Shardas’s cave is rather a mess.”
“What? Shardas is neat as a pin,” I said, startled.
“I know, but …” Feniul trailed away, his tail curling around a young tree in a nervous movement. “Something happened. The windows …”
I felt my heart stutter in my chest. “The windows?” I whispered. “Were some of them … broken?”
“This collar was carefully hidden,” Feniul said, avoiding my gaze. “And there’s a message for you in the pool. I’ll show you.”
“Feniul –”
“I should just … just show you.”
I steeled myself. “All right.” I grabbed hold of the collar, using it to pull myself up on to Feniul’s neck. He was not as big as Shardas, but still much larger than a horse, and the spines running along his neck were sharp. I heard one of them catch my satin underskirts and tear them. All the work I had put into making this hideous dress presentable and it was ruined after only one night. I heaved a sigh.
“Er, Creel, is that a good idea?” Luka’s hand was still on the hilt of his sword. Both Feniul and I looked at him, my expression determined, Feniul’s … draconic. Luka swallowed. “I’d like to come as well,” Luka said tentatively. He was looking at Feniul as though there were nothing he would like less, but his jaw was set.
Tobin sheathed his sword and stepped up, pounding his fist to his chest in a gesture that clearly said: if my prince goes, I’m going, too. Feniul exhaled a breath that rattled the leaves on the trees, and both Tobin and Luka jumped back, making me snicker.
“All three of you may ride,” Feniul said with great dignity. Then he leaned down to Azarte. “Run to Shardas’s cave, boy! Run! Run to Uncle Shardas’s cave!”
Laughing aloud, I helped Luka up behind
me, and Tobin hopped up after him as though he’d been riding dragons all his life. Azarte took off, racing through the trees with his tongue hanging out of the side of his long muzzle.
Feniul leaped into the sky, his great wings fanning out once he had cleared the treetops. I held on to the woven collar, my head thrown back, looking up at the early morning sky in delight. Behind me, I heard Luka swear by the Boiling Sea.
Seeing the brightness of the sun, now that we were no longer in the shadow of the forest, sobered me. Feniul, dear, fearful Feniul, so paranoid about the human migration to the King’s Seat, able to resist the pull of the slippers only because his phobia of being seen was so great, was now flying in broad daylight. We were on the very fringes of Rath Forest, where countless tinkers and bandits lived, and where travellers on the road would spot us if they only looked up. These were dire times indeed, for Feniul to risk such a thing.
The sun was rising high when we reached Shardas’s hollow hill. Feniul landed and we slithered off his back and clambered down the grassy side of the hill to the entrance to the caves.
“So this is a dragon’s cave,” Luka mused as we stepped inside. “Not very tidy, was he?”
The floor of the first cavern was covered in mud, twigs and leaves. There were loose scales and what looked like a broken sword. I almost couldn’t believe that it was the same cavern.
“Shardas is very tidy,” I informed Luka, looking around with concern. “He isn’t responsible for this.”
“I think that the human who has the slippers came here. With armed men,” Feniul said, clicking his fangs together nervously. “They probably thought they would find gold.”
“They didn’t?” Luka looked surprised.
“Of course they didn’t,” I snapped, upset at the destruction of my friend’s home. “Shardas doesn’t collect gold. I told you: he likes glass.”
Dragonskin Slippers Page 17