Rune Master (Dragon Speaker Series Book 3)

by Devin Hanson

  “Hang on, Avandir. We go.”

  With a surge, Ava leapt upward. The down sweep of her wings launched them into the cold night sky. Horns blared as they rose above the level of the rooftop, and Andrew readied to shield them. No cannon fired, though, and the dragon turned to the north, her wings pumping steadily as they climbed.

  They were off.

  Chapter 16

  Plans for Betrayal

  Corvis looked down on the city of Galdaris from the deck of the Black Drake. From his vantage high in the sky, Galdaris looked like the petals of an open flower, with curving city streets layered outward. The design was intended to break lines of sight so a dragon flying overhead would be less likely to see a human walking on a street. To the south, the lake shone brilliant blue, dotted about with white sails.

  His business in Ardhal had concluded satisfactorily. With the duke’s personal guard protecting the airship construction yard, Howell had put his people back to work. Trent had finished his work transmuting the engines over the next two days and Corvis hadn’t wasted any time getting his son out of there. Without Trent around to murder more workers, Corvis didn’t have any doubt that his ships would be completed on schedule.

  Travis had returned while Trent was still working on the engines and had apologized for running. The poor lad had witnessed Trent eating the heart from the worker and had panicked. It was hardly an unreasonable reaction, and it spoke well of him that he had returned at all. He had been firm with Travis, but had let the matter drop.

  And now Corvis was due back in the king’s court. He would give the king the news of the murders in Ardhal and the supposed resolution, but what spin to put on it? King Delran hadn’t been willing to participate in Trent’s attack on Andronath as he viewed it, rightly, as a personal matter. Corvis sighed and ordered Emil Bor to take the Drake in to dock. He needed a feeling for the current state of the court before he presented his news.

  Word of the Black Drake’s return to Galdaris had traveled ahead of him, and his lieutenants were waiting for him at the dock when he disembarked.

  “Welcome back, my lord,” Edmund Craul greeted him. Edmund was dressed in a suit of decorative, alchemically-enhanced armor, blazoned with the baron’s colors. He was captain of the baron’s personal forces, soldiers who had sworn loyalty to the baron.

  Lucius Redmond stood behind, dressed in his own armor, drab compared to Edmund’s finery. Lucius was the captain of the baron’s mercenary forces. He had less than half the allocation Edmund had to arm his men, a constant sore point and source of competition between the two.

  Lastly, in the back, Marc Hassel stood. Marc was the quartermaster and had a mind like an encyclopedia. He knew every piece of weaponry, armor and provision under the baron’s control. Unlike the other two, Marc didn’t wear armor, though he did have a sword strapped to his waist.

  “What’s with the armor?” Corvis asked, “Are we at war?”

  “The city is uneasy,” Lucius hedged. “News of the trouble in Ardhal has spread by rumor, growing with each retelling.”

  Corvis glanced back at Trent and saw the hunger in his eyes as he looked out over the city. “Right. I need to schedule an audience with the King, but before that, I think we should hold council.”

  “Your manse in the city is secure, my lord,” Lucius reported. “Edmund has the surrounding streets patrolled. It will be safe there.”

  “Are we in danger?” Corvis asked. “Have there been any murders in Galdaris?”

  “No more than the usual. But the people are nearly in a panic, with the tabloids each claiming to have the latest news and each inventing more and more horrific predictions to sell more copies. If it gets any worse, the king might ban all tabloid production.”

  “That would make it even worse,” Marc predicted.

  “Burned tabloids. Fine. Let’s get off the street then,” Corvis said. “What I need to tell you should not be spoken in the open.”

  They reconvened a half-hour later in the Priah manse, with the doors to the conference room on the top floor locked and servants barred from the top two floors. In the room were the baron and his son, and his four lieutenants.

  “What gives, Baron?” Edmund asked once the doors were locked and they were alone.

  “First, our airships are back into construction, thanks for Travis and my son.”

  “You got vitae from the Guild?” Edmund asked, surprised.

  “I did,” Travis replied shortly.

  “Well now. I hope they are safe in Ardhal, what with the murders.”

  “I have reason to believe they are,” Corvis said dryly. “Trent, would you care to explain?”

  Trent turned away from the window he was looking out of and faced the table where the rest were sitting. “No.”

  Lucius’ face darkened and he stood abruptly, knocking his chair back. “Your father gave you an order, my lord.”

  Corvis held up a hand. “Sit down, Lucius. Trent, either you tell them or I will.”

  “As you would.” Trent turned back to the window and Lucius drew in a sharp breath.

  “I said sit, Lucius.” Corvis waited until the mercenary captain picked his chair up and returned to the table. “Very well. My son,” he said, “is responsible for the murders in Ardhal.” He held up his hands as the three lieutenants started speaking at once. “My son will not explain himself to you, so I will do the best I can. When he was thrown from the Guild, he sought out a new power. The power has a price, and comes from consuming victims he murdered.”

  “What kind of power comes from the slain?” Edmund demanded.

  “We wrested our power from the corpses of those we robbed,” Corvis pointed out. “Trent’s power is personal, not monetary, but it is no more bloody than our own.”

  Edmund nodded reluctantly, but he still eyed Trent with distaste.

  Lucius, though, didn’t accept the explanation. “That’s a load of dung, my lord,” Lucius spat. “Begging your pardon. We may have killed for our money, position and titles, but we don’t eat our victims!” Lucius threw out a finger, pointing at Trent’s back. “Your son is an abomination, my lord! How can you stand there and tell us it is right?”

  Corvis leaned back. He knew Lucius well, and he could see words weren’t going to sooth the captain. “You seek justice? As you would. I will not stop you.”

  Lucius stared at Corvis for a moment, before kicking free of his chair and drawing his sword. “Trent, arm yourself or I will run you through where you stand! You have already brought infamy on your father’s house and now you would bring its destruction as well! I will not stand for it. Draw, I say!”

  Trent turned back from the window and smiled lazily at Lucius. “Lay down your sword, Redmond. Or I will kill you where you stand.”

  “Filthy coward. Fight me! Or are you too scared of steel? Would you hide behind your alchemy?”

  Trent’s smile turned into a sneer. “I don’t need to hide from the likes of you.”

  Travis turned beseechingly to Corvis, but the baron merely shook his head. This was a lesson best learned in blood. Travis would have to learn that the hard way.

  Lucius advanced around the table, his sword held at guard. “Draw, coward! I will not hesitate to run you through!”

  “Do your worst,” Trent laughed.

  With a lightning-fast lunge, Lucius drove his sword through Trent’s chest. Trent coughed once and smiled. His teeth were red with blood. Lucius ripped his sword free and stared at Trent, waiting for him to fall.

  Lucius was the survivor of dozens of sword fights, and he knew a fatal blow when he struck one. The baron’s son was dead. But instead of falling, Trent’s lips moved, whispering something in a language Lucius had never heard before. The blood pumping from Trent’s chest wound slowed to a stop and Trent cleared his throat and spat a glob of red to the side.

  “Well struck,” Trent said. “My turn.”

  With a yell, Lucius drew back his arm to strike again. Before he could finish the mo
tion, a lance of white-hot fire exploded from Trent’s hand and ripped through Lucius’ stomach. The mercenary captain spun away, knocked off balance by the blast, and a second burst of fire took off his head.

  The room was silent as Lucius’ corpse slumped to the ground.

  “You want to know what power I gained?” Trent shouted. He pushed his fingers through the hole in his shirt where the sword had punched through his chest and ripped his shirt open. His chest was bloody but whole. There was no trace of the wound beyond one more fine scar among the dozens already on his chest.

  “No sword can kill me. No arrow or dagger can wound me, and I have alchemical power at my command exceeding anything imagined. There is none who can stand in my way.”

  Corvis folded his arms and allowed himself a pang of regret that Lucius had pushed so hard. The man had been an excellent captain. He’d have to look hard to find someone as competent as he had been.

  “How?” Edmund demanded. “That blow was mortal, yet I see no wound. Is this alchemy?”

  “No alchemy that the Guild would admit to,” Trent sneered. “I’m something new, and something very old. Older than the Guild is. The very first alchemists were like me, and under my guidance, the Guild will be torn down and rebuilt into something greater, where power is available for those strong enough to claim it.”

  “It was Trent, and those like him, who were behind the murders in Ardhal,” Corvis said, bringing the topic of conversation back to where it had been before Trent derailed it. All the men studiously ignored the mutilated corpse of Lucius; Travis’ face was a little green, but he kept his eyes fixed on the baron.

  “And now Trent is here, in Galdaris,” Marc observed. “If we have control over the killings, then we have control over the tabloids. On your sufferance, of course, my lord.” This last was directed at Trent, accompanied by a small bow of his head.

  Trent’s face split into a wide, lazy smile. “I would like nothing better, Marc.”

  “I’m not familiar with the current state of the city, Marc,” Corvis said, frowning at his son, “but how will this aid in our endeavors?”

  “I’ve planned some of it out, my lord,” Marc said. He paused to put on reading lenses, perching them on his beak of a nose before drawing from an inside pocket on his coat a folded parchment. “My earlier assumptions were on gaining control of the tabloids either through bribes or coercion, but this is even better.”

  “Well, spit it out, man.”

  “Our long-term plans have always focused on getting the King to go to war. Our position would be ideal for making you indispensable to the King and eventually replacing him. Our earlier attempts to trigger a war with Nas Shahr failed when that nation collapsed on its own. A war against Andronath would be even more ideal. The mountains and presence of dragons make airships a necessity in conducting any aggression.”

  “And I own the airships. I get this part, but how does controlling the tabloids aid us?”

  “Our attempts to foment war with Nas Shahr fell apart because the people saw no reason to go to war. If the people think the Guild alchemists are attacking them, they will demand King Delran mobilize.”

  “And once he declares war against Andronath, his fate is sealed. His tragic death will leave me in the position to claim the throne. None of the other houses have the military strength to oppose me.”

  “Except, perhaps, the Vierra family.”

  “They are broken. Their might was financial. With their banks defunct and Jules abdicated, their claim on the throne would not stand against ours.”

  “Even so,” Marc said carefully. “Jules Vierra is a powerful woman in her own right, with many allies. Rumor has it she and the Dragon Speaker are lovers. If the Speaker decides to claim the throne for Jules, we would be hard-pressed to oppose him.”

  “All the more reason to crush Andronath and its army of wardens before making our claim,” Corvis said firmly. “We got this far through timely and decisive action. We will get the rest of the way by more of the same.”

  Edmund cleared his throat. “I’ve seen the reports Lucius got from his mercenaries, and I have my own reports from my men after the aborted attack on the Academy. These wardens are not to be taken lightly, my lord.”

  “How many of them are there?” Corvis growled. “How did so many Maar travel across Salia without our being aware of it?”

  “To answer your first question,” Marc replied, “there seem to be somewhere between three and four hundred wardens in Andronath, just based on the amount of food they consume compared to the estimated population in the city. I have been unsuccessful in getting any reliable count of their numbers directly. To answer the second…” he shrugged. “The Maar did not fear the dragons coming north. Without them taking succor in cities, we have no way of knowing who travels where.”

  “Three hundred Maar doesn’t sound like an unstoppable army to me. How many men can the King muster? A thousand? More? We can field five hundred ourselves if we stretch our treasury. The other houses could contribute perhaps another thousand combined. We outnumber the Maar ten to one. I don’t care how good they are, those are odds nobody can survive.”

  “You forget the alchemists in Andronath,” Edmund added quietly. “Who can say what they would bring to battle? And the Speaker has a dragon under his control. I can’t even begin to predict the impact that would have on our forces.”

  “Nobody said this was going to be easy,” Corvis reminded them, looking around at the tense faces at the table. “Yes, Andronath has a formidable strength, it is true. But I should remind you, our objective is not actually to conquer the city. We only need to make sure the King dies while his forces are engaged. Then we can withdraw and sue for peace. If we can kill a lot of wardens while we do that, all the better.”

  “You forget,” Trent said in his raspy half-whisper, “There will be alchemists fighting on our side as well. Ones with significantly more power than those crippled idiots hiding in Andronath.”

  “We would, of course, be grateful for your assistance, my lord,” Marc said carefully. “Would it be possible to request your services on the defensive? If our forces alone came through the battle relatively unscathed, it would provide all the advantage we need upon our return to Galdaris.”

  “I will be there for one purpose, and one purpose only,” Trent replied with a hungry smile. “To kill Andrew Condign, the Dragon Speaker. The other alchemists, I will task with your protection if you truly desire it.”

  “Oh. As you wish, my lord.” Marc hesitated. “I don’t mean to overstep my bounds, but is such a confrontation wise?”

  “Do you doubt me? After what I just showed you?”

  “Of course not, my lord. I just wonder if it would be more prudent–”

  “The Speaker has taunted me from the very day we met,” Trent hissed. “I will kill him. I will kill him, and he will die in agony. This I promise.”

  “Very well.” Corvis stood and tugged his jacket straight again. “I will send the Drake back to Ardhal in the morning with instructions to pick up your alchemists. Trent, my son, bring terror upon this city. Hound them to the brink of collapse and we will force the king to his knees in supplication.”

  “It will be done, Father.” Trent nodded to the others and left the room, a broad smile upon his scarred face.

  “Marc,” Corvis said once Trent was gone. “Find the tabloids most susceptible to guidance and prepare them for the stories. We want the tabloids putting the right spin on this from the very start.”

  “At once, my lord.” Marc stood and left with a bow.

  “Edmund. Find a replacement for Lucius from among your men. Someone who isn’t so hot-headed.”

  “I have just the man, my lord.”

  “Good, see to it. Travis, have this mess taken care of, then go back with the Drake to Ardhal. Find the alchemists and explain to them what their new mission is. I want them here in Galdaris in three days.”

  Travis swallowed, his face white, but he nodde
d and left as well.

  Alone, Corvis stared at the spatter of blood across the walls. He stood, his back straight, his face calm and composed. Then he slowly sagged, his shoulders drooping, his head bowing forward. He caught himself on the table and gently lowered himself into a chair.

  “Oh gods. Forgive me for what I unleash upon this city.”

  Chapter 17

  Rune Master

  Andrew clung to the saddle on Ava’s back and wondered if bringing Jules had been such a good idea.

  Flying on Ava’s back across the mountains made it difficult to gauge distances, but he knew they had traveled many miles. The blank area on the map above Salia vaguely labeled “Dragon Wastes” was really a series of criss-crossing mountain ranges. As they traveled north and east, the terrain alternated between towering lines of mountains with their tops still crowned with snow, to wide open plains bordered with rolling hills.

  Rather than the endless ice-crusted mountains envisioned by Salian map makers, much of the land was temperate, with miles upon miles of forests and plains free of snow. The further north they traveled, the lower the snowline dropped, but it was all land easily habitable by humans. Indeed, several times they passed the tumbled stone ruins of old human habitation.

  Traveling the same distance on foot that Ava covered in a few hours would have taken many weeks with horses, even assuming they could get them over the mountain passes. Traveling back on foot without Ava would take months, and with the onset of winter by that time, would be virtually impossible.

  After hours of flying, Andrew started recognizing familiar mountain shapes and called back to Jules, telling her they were almost there. Knowing what to look for, he started seeing the signs of dragon habitation. Mountain slopes with isolated rock falls, a scarcity of large game animals visible as they flew over plains and clearings.

  He spotted the first of the males circling idly on a warm updraft and pointed him out to Jules. She hugged his back a little tighter, but didn’t say anything. He had warned her, of course, that there were males guarding Ava’s nesting site, but knowing and seeing were two very different things.