Rune Master (Dragon Speaker Series Book 3)

by Devin Hanson

  “I will make arrangements,” Andrew promised. “Would you like to be present?”

  “We will hold our remembrances later, at our own time,” Iria shook her head. “I will send a warden to collect their weapons, but that is all the time we can spend.” She glanced out the door at the brightening windows. “Time flies.”

  Andrew nodded and left the room to go find the constable. Ryan was propped up on a table in the next room. His face was pale, and a bandage was wrapped around his middle where an ice spike had driven through his side. The door to the front of the inn banged open and Travis ran in, a man in a wide brimmed hat carrying a satchel close on his heels. Andrew waved to get his attention and directed the doctor into the room with the constable then stepped out of the room, beckoning to Travis.

  “That was quick work.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Andrew looked at the man for a while until Travis started fidgeting under his gaze. “Sorry, I’m trying to think of what to do with you.”

  “I hoped to travel with you. I have money, or can work my passage.”

  Andrew nodded thoughtfully. “Do you know who I am?”

  “I think it’s pretty obvious you’re not a merchant,” Travis tried a laugh and choked it off nervously.

  “I am not,” Andrew agreed, “though I was a long time ago. How much do you know of what happened in Andronath over the winter?”

  Travis shrugged. “As much as any man, perhaps more than most. I know Trent had a falling out with the Guild and used the Baron’s forces to lay siege against the Academy.” He swallowed. “It did not go well for him in the end, largely due to the wardens.”

  “You have it right enough, though there are details you are missing. Trent was banned from the Guild and forbidden the use of alchemy on pain of death.”

  Travis’ eyes widened. “I didn’t know that.”

  “He wasn’t happy with the verdict.”

  “I… well. Obviously.”

  Andrew grinned at the unlooked-for humor. “Here’s what you’re missing,” he said, seriousness coming back to his face and voice. “I was responsible for Trent’s expulsion from the Guild, and the wardens are sworn to me.”

  “You?” Travis frowned in confusion. “But I heard the wardens served the Dragon Speaker.”

  “As I said.” Andrew waited for the confusion on Travis’ face to run through the gamut of emotions: surprise, shock, fear, awe, and finally settling on respect. It spoke well of him, Andrew thought, that he worked through the earlier phases so quickly. He had no use for someone who was afraid of him or constantly stumbling around awestruck. Serving a baron had made him more used to people in positions of power.

  “I’m sorry, my lord, for any familiarity. I did not mean to offend.”

  Andrew rolled his eyes. “Come off it. And I can’t work with people lording me all the time. ‘Speaker’ is more than enough of a title for me.”

  “But the wardens–”

  “The wardens have their own sense of honor, which does not happen to include my personal preferences.”

  “I… okay. I’m honored by your confidence in me.”

  Andrew smiled and clapped Travis on the shoulder. “A year and a half ago I was shoveling dragon dung off a mountainside, hoping I wouldn’t get frostbite. Between the two of us, life was simpler then. So. Now that you know who I am, are you still so eager to, as you put it, travel with me?”

  “You really speak with dragons?”

  Andrew nodded with a smile. “Mostly just the one, but I’m working on changing that. Her name is Avandakossi. Travel with me long enough, and you’re sure to meet her.”

  Travis swallowed. Meet a dragon! The thought made him weak in the knees and his throat lock up. He forced himself to nod.

  “Well then.” Andrew paused as Travis’ face lit up and his eyes averted. Andrew turned to see Iria walking toward them. She had a distracted look on her face, but she changed her course when she spotted Andrew and Travis talking and walked over to join them.

  “Sp– Mr. Condign, I–”

  “Relax, Iria. Travis knows who I am.”

  “He does?” Iria looked appraisingly at Travis. “I see.”

  Travis flushed and ducked his head.

  “You were saying?”

  “Yes. Adnan is on his feet and closing our business with the inn.”

  “Good. Iria, what would you say to Mr. Bellwether here joining our merry troop?”

  “I would ask your purpose,” she said carefully. “Whatever his other qualities, Travis is not like to join our war against the Incantors.”

  “There are other aspects to being a Speaker than fighting Incantors,” Andrew said. “You’ve told me that yourself, often enough. Travis may prove useful.”

  Iria nodded. “It is true, I suppose. His knowledge of the Salian forces could come in handy. But I have another suggestion, if you have not yet made up your mind.”

  “I always hear your suggestions, Iria.”

  “Send him back to the baron.”

  Andrew raised an eyebrow and noted how Travis’ face fell. He should have warned him that finding a way into the warden’s heart would take time and effort. But he would figure that out eventually. “You would send him back into danger and have him spy for us?”

  “Forewarning about Trent’s movements could save thousands of lives, and make our task much easier.”

  Iria wasn’t wrong, of course, but Andrew could see how terror gripped Travis at the thought of returning to the baron. He reached out and squeezed the other man’s shoulder, shaking him a little. “Easy there, man. Take a deep breath. Nobody is asking you to become drinking buddies with Trent,” he said, guessing at the reason behind Travis’ fear. “Iria is merely suggesting you continue your normal duties with the baron.”

  “And if he launches an armada against Andronath, let us know before it darkens our skies,” Iria added dryly.

  The good cheer leached out of Travis and he seemed to age. He offered a wan smile. “You place a lot of trust in me.”

  “To be fair,” Andrew said, “accepting you to travel with me would be placing even more trust. How do I know you aren’t a spy for the baron?” He held up a hand, stalling Travis’ protests before they could begin. “I don’t think you are a spy, but we are at war against Trent and his Incantors. You did give us Bircham Lameda and that is not a service I will forget quickly.”

  “I… thank you, Speaker.”

  “If it’s a comfort, Trent isn’t any more dangerous than Ava is. And if you’re lucky, you won’t have anything to do with Trent.” Andrew grinned at the uncertain frown on Travis’ face. “You’ll be going back into the fire, but it won’t be forever. If I know Trent, he’ll be pushing for a conflict soon enough. If it takes him until the end of the year, I’ll be very surprised.”

  “And if you find yourself in danger,” Iria offered with a smile of her own, “You are known to the wardens. Andronath will be a safe place for you.”

  It’s funny, Andrew thought as he watched Travis leave the inn with his back straight and confidence once more on his face, how much better women are at convincing men to do things. He considered telling Iria about Travis’ feelings for her then decided against it. She probably already knew, and what would it change?

  Travis would have a difficult road ahead of him. There was no question of that. Andrew wished him the best of luck. With Trent in the vicinity, he would need it.

  Andrew pulled his attention back to the present. “It was a good suggestion,” he told Iria. “Any intelligence he can give us will help greatly.”

  “It was difficult sending him back to the baron. He is a good man.”

  “Yes, he is. Do you need anything else? I need to speak with the constable.”

  “I’ll find an airship and let the captain know we will want to leave before noon.”

  “Suggest the captain load as much food as he can carry. He’ll find the trip well worth changing his travel plans.”

 
; Iria bowed and hurried out. Andrew sighed and pushed the door open to the side room where Ryan was being treated by the doctor.

  “How’s he doing, Doctor?” As Andrew came around, he saw that Ryan was unconscious on the table. The constable’s clothing had been cut away and Andrew was surprised at the extent of the wound revealed.

  “Poorly. Who are you?”

  “Sorry. I’m a friend. I was with the constable during the attack.”

  “I’ve never seen a wound like this before. It is like a spear wound, but there are no cuts from the spear point. How did it happen?”

  “Treat for frostbite,” Andrew suggested. “Have you ever seen a man impaled by an icicle?”

  “Frostbite!” The doctor frowned and looked more closely at the constable’s wound. “It’s the middle of summer. The nights are cold here, and the rain doesn’t help, but it’s nowhere near freezing. But burn me if you’re right. Where did someone get ice this time of year?”

  “Does it matter?” Andrew asked.

  The doctor glared at him for a moment before shaking his head and continuing with his work. “No, I suppose it doesn’t. Well, that changes things. Thank you for that.” The last came grudgingly.

  “Will the constable pull through?”

  “Likely, unless this wound sours. Less likely, the longer I spend talking with you. I have work to do.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.”

  Andrew left the room and closed the door. He really hoped that the constable pulled through. The man might be prickly, but Andrew could respect him.

  “Sir? Are you Mr. Condign?”

  Andrew looked up to find one of the constable’s lawmen standing in front of him. “I am. What can I do for you?”

  “Oh good. I’ve been looking for you. I’m Wesley Carmine, second in command of the lawmen. Acting constable, I guess, until Ryan is back on his feet. Constable Ryan didn’t tell me where he was going last night, just that he went to stop the murders.”

  “I see.”

  “Some of the lawmen told me you were leading the force with Ryan? What news? I can’t find answers anywhere. Are the murderers dead?”

  Andrew sighed. “We killed one of the core group and a number of… lackeys. Constable Ryan took his wound while fighting.”

  “All this for just one of the murderers? How many are there?”

  “One is enough,” Andrew said. “They know they can be beaten now and fear will make them lay low for a time. With luck, they will leave your city in peace.”

  “I sincerely hope so. One of your men, tall fellow with an accent, said we were to burn the bodies? Even of your companions?”

  “It is their way,” Andrew said shortly. He didn’t feel like explaining things to this man though he seemed earnest enough. Constable Ryan, he trusted. This man was an unknown.

  “Of course. I just wanted to… of course.”

  “I’m afraid we’ll be leaving Ardhal soon,” Andrew said. “I wish I could stay and speak with the constable when he wakes, but the night waits for no man. Give the constable my regards and let him know that should the murders start up again he can reach me in Andronath and I will come with haste.”

  Carmine nodded, opening and closing his mouth a few times, but couldn’t think of anything to say.

  Andrew left him there and headed upstairs to get ready to leave. It was time to leave Ardhal, perhaps for the last time.

  Chapter 14

  Transferring Suspicion

  “Monstrous!”

  Corvis Priah rested one hand on the hilt of his rapier, wondering if he’d be forced to run Vernan Howell through. The Master Engineer was pacing back and forth on the deck of the Black Drake at nearly a run. His hair was in wild disarray and he was furious, waving his hands and punching the air as he spoke.

  “Perhaps you had better calm yourself and explain things slowly,” Corvis suggested. He knew what Howell was angry about, but it would be better to feign innocence for now.

  “Calm myself?! Baron, one of my workers is butchered! I will not be told to calm myself! The murders that afflict the city once left my workers in peace. They have brought their families here and could work knowing their loved ones are safe. No longer!”

  “Surely work will continue?” Burn Trent and his insatiable appetites. He had hoped having Travis around would keep Trent focused. It had worked for several days, but the moment Travis was occupied elsewhere his son had murdered again. Monstrous was right.

  “How could it? My workers embody years of training and experience. They are irreplaceable! If more are murdered, airship production will halt for years while replacements are trained!”

  Corvis gave a compressed sigh and clenched his teeth before forcing his voice calm. “It is awful. There is no getting around that. But surely you have others trained to do the job of the worker you’ve so tragically lost?”

  “You don’t understand, Baron! As soon as I finish here, I’m going to fly my workers to a different city to wait out these assaults. There is no way I can afford to lose more!”

  Corvis cursed to himself. Tiny gods. That would be the opposite of what he needed done. “My dear man, of course you must protect your people. I would never suggest otherwise. Before you shut down your workshops, let me first attempt to speak with the duke. I have favors owed me. If I were able to get a contingent of the duke’s lawmen here to protect your people, and no further murders occur, could I convince you to delay your flight until my ships are complete?”

  “You expect me to delay? Why, I may have lost even more of my people as I waste time here with you!”

  Not likely, since Trent was currently asleep in his cabin aboard the Drake, but no reason to tell Howell that. “Come now. What else is needed for the airships to be complete?”

  “Your airships are all but done, Baron. All they lack is the engines installed and their balloons filled. I could have your order in the sky by the end of the week if it weren’t for the murders.”

  “What if I could get you a hundred lawmen? Only hold back those workers needed to complete my airships, guarded by a hundred of Ardhal’s finest. No murderer would risk that!”

  “A hundred guards? Do you truly have enough pull with the duke to reassign that many men?” Howell finally stopped his pacing.

  “I can only try, Howell. I will leave immediately if I have your word to await my return. I won’t be long, one way or the other.”

  Howell shook his head, but sighed in resignation. “You have it, Baron. But if I find a single death among my workers, there is no pile of gold large enough or army strong enough to get me to stay.”

  “I would expect no less.”

  The manor of the Duke of Ardhal, Lord of the Westmarch, was grand enough to have its own mooring tower. The manor was a great expanse of carefully camouflaged roofs and towers, and lay removed from the city proper by a manicured, miniature forest.

  As the Black Drake approached the tower, Corvis saw that the Duke of Ardhal had not spared any expense in the decoration and construction of his home. Ardhal wasn’t a large city by Salian standards, but the airship construction yards made it one of the most wealthy, and the manor reflected that wealth in every facet of its construction and decoration.

  No stairs were used in this mooring tower. An alchemical elevator, operated by a smartly uniformed page brought Corvis and his son to ground level. Trent’s face was shadowed by a deep hood, but still drew a lingering look from the page.

  Corvis had been badly tempted to leave Trent behind, but leaving Trent at the construction yard would have been foolhardy, and leaving him aboard the Drake would have been equally so. Corvis was beginning to wonder if his son was anything more than a colossal hazard. The lad had power, that was undeniable. But power that couldn’t be controlled was just as deadly to those who would wield it.

  He was under no illusions that Trent was under his control. How did the saying go? The only way to get a cat to do anything was to order it to do what it was already doing. Trent might b
e cajoled into doing something, as demonstrated by Corvis’ success in having Trent transmute the airship engines. But Trent did what best benefited Trent.

  As long as Trent was with him, Corvis could be reasonably certain his son wouldn’t murder anyone on a whim.

  They were met at the base of the mooring tower by a brace of the duke’s men: grim-faced soldiers wielding lever-action rifles. That got even Trent’s attention. Gunpowder was extremely expensive and hard to come by, it being manufactured only on the continent across the eastern sea. Guns were novelty items, or the toys of the super-rich. Seeing soldiers equipped with them, meant the duke was taking no chances with his personal safety.

  It was curious, Corvis thought, as they followed the soldiers through courtyards and grandiose, pillared walkways, that Trent showed concern over the presence of rifles. His son had shown zero concern over being threatened with a sword, but Corvis couldn’t miss the repeated sidelong glances at the rifles.

  Not for the first time, Corvis wished he knew more about alchemy. It was, he decided, part of the reason why alchemists were so feared. Nobody really knew what they could or couldn’t do. Eyewitness accounts were unreliable, often exaggerated or poorly seen in the first place. It was rare indeed to find someone who had fought an alchemist and survived. What was it about guns that made Trent nervous? Besides the obvious concern over the speed of the bullet and the long range of the rifles, what made them more deadly than an arrow?

  “Wait here, my lords. The duke is in an audience, but will see you shortly.”

  Corvis pulled out of his musings and looked around. They were in an antechamber with a marble floor. Exquisitely detailed wooded friezes depicting airships and dragons lined the walls. A lush, deep red carpet ran down the center of the room, disappearing through the double doors that led to the duke’s reception room. The wall sconces were lit with the unmistakable clear light of alchemical lamps.

  “If I may, who does the duke meet with?” Corvis asked.