by Devin Hanson
Corvis cursed inwardly but summoned a smile. “There was something I learned in school about attacks made by Andronath some two hundred years ago. This could be a repeat of some nature. Everyone knows history repeats itself.”
“That’s a logical fallacy,” the lord sputtered, but the king cut him off before he could say any more.
“Gentlemen! We’re not here to fight amongst ourselves. We need proof! I won’t attack Andronath without good cause.”
“The people demand it, my lord,” someone else said quietly.
“The people demand action,” Delran snapped. “And they will have it. But action against the wrong target will only worsen matters. General, find me some proof. I don’t care how you get it, but I need something. Anything!”
“At once, sire.” General Forthist bowed and strode from the room.
Corvis allowed himself a small smile. Things were going perfectly to plan. The next attack would happen soon, outside the palace itself. General Forthist wouldn’t live out the hour.
“In the meantime,” the king continued, “we need to develop contingencies.”
“Against Andronath?” the old noble quavered. “Your majesty, please! Consider the ramifications. If it truly is Andronath that besets your people, I would advise treating with them. Sue for peace. The might of the alchemists is not to be underestimated.”
Corvis frowned slightly. This old man was being altogether too logical. This meeting needed to be emotional, filled with hate and quick, unthinking action. Corvis needed to do something about him before he caused too many heads to cool. He held out his hand to the lord. “I’m sorry, my lord, I don’t believe I’ve ever met you in person before. I am Baron Corvis Priah.”
“I know who you are, Lord Priah. New money and hot blood with a fresh title and something to prove.” The man turned his nose up at Corvis’ offered hand. “War would not benefit Salia, Baron.”
“Getting the killers out of Galdaris would, though,” Corvis returned, stung by the lord’s snub.
“Lord Veron,” King Delran chided, a smile playing about his mouth, “the Baron means well. Combat is what he knows best, so naturally it is his solution to problems. Baron, my apologies. It is your expertise in airships that got you your invitation to this meeting. Don’t hold back your advice if you feel your unique knowledge would make a difference.”
Corvis bowed, using the motion to hide his face. Lord Veron! The old man was the royal father-in-law. He hadn’t taken interest in court affairs for decades. Unfortunately, there was nothing Corvis could do to get the old man to be silent. The king had, very diplomatically, told him to keep his mouth shut unless plans for attack were being made.
“Your pardon, Majesty.”
Delran waved a hand, dismissing it, and turned back to the table. Inwardly, Corvis seethed while he kept a pleasant smile on his face. Dismissed like a servant! Maybe Veron should have an accident on the way home from the palace? Run into one of the alchemists he was so sure were peaceful! No. He took a breath and forced his fury down. Stick to the plan. The old man wouldn’t matter in the long run.
“Our contingencies,” the king said, “should have at least two complete plans. One for an assault on Andronath, the other a plan for attacking further from home. We can reach Andronath in one day by airship?”
“We can, your majesty,” Corvis confirmed, recognizing his cue to offer his expertise. “It is a thirteen-hour flight with loaded airships.”
“That leaves precious little time for a battle before we must be within their walls.”
“A ground force could travel by road and meet up with the airships the day of the attack,” another lord suggested. “The waystations aren’t large, but they could fit near a thousand men.”
“Or we could gamble on there not being a dragon in the sky while they travel,” the king said grimly. “Baron Priah, how many men could fit on an airship safely?”
“It depends on the ship, my lord, but an average of a hundred men, with gear and provisions.”
“How many airships do we have in our control?”
The lords present offered their numbers. Corvis added them up and came up with fifteen ships, not counting his own. “I will have five more completed within the week, giving me a total of twelve airships. That should suffice to carry our forces.” Corvis said. “The thousand men on the ground won’t have to sleep out-of-doors.”
“Two thousand men by air and another thousand on the ground. Three thousand men would be an overwhelming force,” the king said with a grim smile.
“Assuming we can take the city wall,” Lord Veron said. “Lord Priah knows better than anyone how difficult that will be.”
Corvis nodded as faces turned toward him. “It is true. But my son only failed when he tried to assault the Academy itself. Andronath did not have the forces to hold the city from even a handful of mercenaries.”
“That’s changed,” the king pointed out. “The wardens have reinforced them, and the alchemists have been through a battle. Their will to fight has been hardened.”
“Andronath is a large city. Not as large as Galdaris, but its walls are far too long for a few hundred wardens to make much difference.”
Lord Veron scowled and turned to face Corvis. Then an almost inaudible thump came through the walls. Tea cups danced on their saucers and the hangings in the room puffed away from the walls as the air pressure in the hallway changed. Distant shouts came through the closed door.
“They dare attack here!” the king snarled. “Where is General Forthist?”
The general, Corvis knew, was currently dead or would soon be so. Events were happening outside the room that had only one possible conclusion.
A guard ducked into the room with captain stripes on his tabard. “Your Majesty! There was an attack outside the walls. We don’t know what happened yet, there is still fighting going on. You will be safe in here.”
There was a rippling roar, muffled by the stone walls, and the king’s face split into a feral smile. “Let’s see how these alchemists deal with rifles!”
Corvis felt a flash of doubt. The roar of a fresh salvo came again. Was it smaller than before? He remembered Trent’s unease about rifles. Would the ambush go the other way? Corvis felt an unexpected bubble of hope. Was it possible Trent would die? No, he chastised himself. If Trent were found dead, Corvis himself would be doomed as well.
Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.
Silence fell in the chamber as everyone waited for news. Corvis found himself pacing, his feet acting out his internal conflict. The seed of hope that Trent had died in the fighting festered within him. He cursed the thought, berated himself for wishing death on his only son.
The door banged open and General Forthist strode into the room. His armor was blackened all up one side and he had a bandage wrapped around his head still seeping blood. Corvis froze, already seeing in his mind’s eye the general’s finger pointing at him and words of denouncement upon his lips.
Forthist brushed past Corvis and threw a leather-bound satchel onto the table. It was bloody on one side and burned on the other, but still intact. “I have returned successful!” he cried, throwing open the satchel. Letters spilled out, folded into envelopes and loose-leaf.
Corvis joined the press of people looking at the letters and felt a mixed wave of relief wash over him. The packet was their prepared collection, intended to be found by the general’s men should things go awry. If the packet wasn’t proof enough, that Forthist still lived was a sign that the attack had gone poorly. The surprise of the guns had thrown their plans into disarray.
He stood back as the king flipped through the letters. They were incriminating, to say the least. Instructions for the alchemists to sow terror among the populace of Galdaris, a letter from the Dragon Speaker instructing them to attack specific lords, several of which were currently in the room. Admonishment against using actual sand masks to disguise their features lest someone recognize them. A map marked with all t
he attack sites, as well as a scattering of sites as yet unharmed. Finally, a subtly-worded letter instructing the “agents” to eliminate the king in preparation for the main attack.
As a whole, it was perhaps a little heavy-handed. A more rational group might have correctly indentified the satchel as being an elaborate plant, but the satchel gave them the exact information they, with the exception of old lord Veron, were expecting.
The easiest way to fool a man, Corvis thought, was to give him the news he expects.
Chapter 20
Preparing for War
Andrew closed his eyes and listened to the wind passing by his ears. Ava’s body heat warmed the saddle and his heavy leather riding gear cut the chill of the wind, but the exposed parts of his face were numb with cold. Jules shifted against his back, snuggling closer to get fully behind him.
The last week had been a very interesting vacation. The ancient city of Vanali had provided a day’s adventure while they roamed around exploring it. Vanali was enormous, as it was first and foremost designed around accommodating dragons. Both sides of the gorge were peppered with tunnels that sank into the cliffs. If each tunnel housed a single dragon, there must have been hundreds of kossi living in Vanali. As they grew closer to the mouth of the delta, the tunnels grew more spacious and the human quarters associated with them more lavish.
On the northern cliffs, at the last bluff before it fell away to the ocean, the royal quarters were located. The tunnel was wide enough for Ava to fly directly down it. It had a nesting place that seemed to fit Ava like a glove, and a fork that led to a hatching ground.
The floor of the hatching ground was fine sand from the beaches below, several feet deep. In the center, an area of black and molten glass was studded with kossarigan, the runes deliberately disrupted. Whoever had done it had not wanted the dragons to have an easy time breeding again.
Around the sand, rows of benches were carved into the walls like an amphitheater, which Ava inferred had been packed with spectators watching the birth of the new dragons and their first meal, where the animi was imparted.
Above the dragon quarters, the human half of the space was huge, with vaulted ceilings, columned halls and spacious rooms. The main bedroom looked out over the dragon’s sleeping spot. The rooms were cluttered with the remains of once-fine furniture. What wood was still intact collapsed at a touch. Iron was rusted away to nothing, silver fuzzy with oxidation. Only gold remained unsullied by the passage of time, and there was precious little of that.
Ava announced that she would have her young hatch here, within the royal hatching grounds. They had spent the rest of the day carving kossarigan and getting them situated. By the next morning, the old patch of glass was molten once more. Ava plucked the blackened husks of the old kossarigan from the glowing red molten glass and discarded them.
Moving the eggs from Ava’s old nest to the new one had been magnificent. Four kossi were summoned and each given the task of ferrying one egg from the old nest to the new and keeping it warm on the way. When they finally took to the sky, dozens of male dragons joined them in the flight west. They had come from far and wide to participate in the transfer, acting as an honor guard to escort the eggs for the last time.
Riding on Ava’s back during that westward flight with all those dragons keeping pace was the most unforgettable four hours of Andrew’s life. Each of the five eggs was carefully placed into the molten glass while the delta echoed with the roars of the male dragons outside.
Then, abiding to some memory thousands of years old, the males left the gorge. According to Ava, the gorge was the domain of humans per the ancient pact, and the males would not intervene. Andrew’s worry about security was short-lived, as the four kossi that assisted with carrying the eggs asked Andrew’s permission to take up nesting in the adjacent caves.
Erinikossi, Nadiakossi, Freidakossi and Maricikossi became the first dragons to pledge themselves to the new alliance. Andrew smiled to himself, remembering the flood of emotion that washed through his mind when he gave his permission. For the dragons, it was more than just moving to a new home. It was the alliance made real. No longer just words on a mountainside, they were here, next to a proper nesting ground with kossarigan in place. It meant they could have their own clutches of eggs, could have their own young. It meant life and a future. It was two thousand desperate years of wondering if they were the last of their kind, coming to an end.
Andrew had offered, with tears running down his face, a place for every dragon who had participated in the song. The dragons agreed to spread the word. The ancient city, Vanali of the Dragons, was coming to life once more.
Ava returned to her nest, curled around the eggs and refused to move for three days. Andrew and Jules took the time trying to make their adjacent rooms livable. None of the original furniture, such as it was, was useful even for firewood. All of it had to be removed. They cut torches from new branches and carved them with runes to keep them burning forever. They hunted, explored, and wandered the ruins, wondering what the rambling piles of stone had once been. Whenever they had a moment to relax, Andrew studied his fluxes, re-learning all his runes and memorizing the newly discovered details.
On the morning of the fifth day, the first four dragons returned with the rest of the kossi that had participated in the song and the city suddenly bustled with life. There always seemed to be a dragon nearby, flying overhead or lying on a tumble of ancient stone blocks sunning. Ava ventured from her nest with the news that the eggs would be hatching within ten days.
The abrupt reminder that Andrew had to find suitable animi for the newborn dragons brought the vacation to an end. They had to return to Andronath and prepare for the hatching. He needed five people willing to be eaten by a dragon, and five condemned criminals. The first group would be animi, destined to “pass within”, whatever that meant, one for each egg in case they were all female. The second group would provide the initial surge of vitae that a male dragon needed to survive.
Andrew clutched the straps holding him in the saddle tighter, feeling the leather of his gloves creak under the pressure. How was he supposed to choose five people to die? And not just any people, good people. They had to be people with the personality and honor to be worthy of transferring to an immortal dragon. They had to be people he could trust completely. The number of people who fit that description was very small. Iria, Jules, Adnan, a few of the wardens. He couldn’t imagine life without them, though. Maybe Jules or Iria would have a larger list of people.
Returning to Andronath wasn’t going to be pleasant, Andrew knew. The vote for the new guild master would have taken place in his absence. He didn’t doubt Kilpatri would be the new guild master, and that was fine with him, but there were many among the Council who wouldn’t like it.
Jules tightened her arms around his waist as Andronath finally came into view, towers gleaming in the mid-day sun. Ava slowed her headlong rush and glided in to the secluded clearing. Andrew hurried to remove the harness and saddle, knowing Ava was anxious to return to her eggs. With a last scratch around the base of her horns, Andrew bid farewell to the dragon and settled down to wait.
Iria arrived with a force of wardens on horses driven to lather, before his riding leathers had a chance to warm up in the sun.
“Speaker!” she cried, swinging down from her horse before it had come to a stop. “There is ill news!”
Andrew pushed himself to his feet, feeling the weight of responsibility settle down on his shoulders once more. He suppressed a sigh. Couldn’t the world do without him for a week without falling apart? He felt more than saw Jules step up to his side. He knew the look on her face without having to turn his head to see her. She had resumed her noble demeanor. Her clothes might be filthy from a week of hiking about the wilderness and cleaning out millennia of accumulated dust and rubbish, but her bearing and composure would make her at home in any court in the world.
“It’s good to see you, Iria.” Andrew smiled. With any other p
erson, he would expect a hug and then get to business, but Iria stopped beyond arms reach and bowed her head, always respectful. “The horses could use a breather. Tell me the news while we wait.”
“War, Speaker.”
“What? War? With whom?” Jules asked.
“Salia, my lady.”
“Start at the beginning,” Andrew requested. “Is Andronath under attack now?”
“Not yet, but they ready for it,” Iria said. “I received a letter from Travis Bellwether.”
“I take it he was able to talk his way back into his service to the baron?”
“He did. He sent two letters since then. The first a list of alchemists, along with eight he believes to be Incantors.”
“We have names? That’s excellent, Iria!”
“Yes.” The warden’s face remained grim. “The second letter was written in a rush. Galdaris is under attack from the Incantors, and the baron has twisted the facts so King Delran believes Andronath is the cause.”
“Tiny gods,” Jules said softly. “How many dead in Galdaris?”
“Hundreds,” Iria replied, her voice tight.
“Any chance of sending a messenger?” Andrew asked Jules. “Someone to protest our innocence?”
Jules shook her head. “We could, but Delran would find it an empty gesture. If he’s preparing to attack Andronath, he’s already had advisors tell him it’s a terrible idea. A messenger from us would only be seen as a delaying tactic. Unless… No, that’s a bad idea.”
“Unless what?” Andrew asked.
“Unless the messenger was of sufficient rank that their word would be enough to sway the king’s decision.”
“Who, then? The Guild Master?”
“That would be a start, but it could be argued he’s sacrificial. You, Andrew, and myself, along with the Guild Master, might be enough.”