“Are you saying that the monster snakes are more of a threat to Amazonia, to all of Mabastion, than just the king’s hideous need to watch them kill people?” Gerta pulled hard on the reins, forcing her steed to stop in midtrail. The beast stamped, snorted, and half reared in protest.
“Yes. That is why the magicians and dragons of Coronnan went hunting as soon as the eggs and snakes began to appear,” Lukan affirmed.
“Does the king know this?” Chess asked.
“I heard . . . we had a . . . situation in Coronnan City early this year when a man thought a Krakatrice was his pet. It had taken over his mind and free will until he obeyed only the snake’s need for blood, and more blood. Eventually he led a rebellion in order to give his ‘pet’ magical and royal blood to allow her to grow bigger and stronger. Meanwhile, her consorts started damming the rivers. The mighty River Coronnan, more than a mile wide in places, slowed to a trickle.”
“The king has lost his mind,” Gerta said quietly, obviously aghast at the situation. Then she shivered all over, blinked her eyes rapidly and firmed her chin in determination. “We have got to end this. Now.” She kicked her steed into a fast trot and headed uphill toward the plateau and the snakes.
Maria curled up in the padded chair in her private parlor that her sister had had made for her many years ago, when the young queen was still vibrant and listened. Before she fell under Lokeen’s spell, before she’d succumbed to two difficult pregnancies and dangerous deliveries that produced only disappointing male children.
The privacy of her parlor remained sacrosanct among the servants. Even Rejiia’s man Geon would not get past the kitchen staff to listen at her door.
“You look comfortable,” Toskellar said. He tapped at the sole of her boot with an oversized hammer—the only one he could find—and tiny little nails. “That doesn’t happen often. I remember you telling me and Faelle stories about the glorious past of Amazonia from that chair. We felt loved, and like we belonged somewhere, when you did that.” He kept his eyes lowered to the repair of her boot.
“I do love you and your brother. Despite his choice to join the cult of Helvess. But he is a talented healer and found the people who gave him the training he deserves.”
“We know how much you love us. More than our father ever did. Or our mother could.”
“If you knew you were loved, why did you run away, Toskellar?”
“I go by Skeller now,” he said.
“Please answer my question, nephew.”
“I ran away because I was young and I didn’t know how to counter my father’s gradual but determined undermining of our laws, our trade alliances. Our traditions.”
“But you are back now. Why?”
“I’ve seen enough, learned enough, been hurt enough to know that I have to do something before he ruins Amazonia and the rest of Mabastion.”
“We have no heir to my sister’s crown,” Maria repeated the litany that had kept her from running away herself. “The only way to remove your father from the throne is for you to marry a suitable princess and rule in her name. I have sent five letters to our neighboring city-states begging for a . . .”
“I will not have the princess Lokeen arranged for me to marry.”
“He is your father. You should call him what he is.”
“Then I call him Tyrant.”
Finally Toskellar raised his face to her, resolute as she had never seen him before. He had indeed matured these last five years.
“What is wrong with the Princess Bettina?” Maria broke the staring match by turning her face away as well as changing the subject.
“Before Lokeen married my mother, we had no crime worthy of execution. Exile to the desert was the worst sentence for criminals. We had little crime at all. Oh, we had the occasional assassination, small, sporadic wars, but nothing long lasting and we always, always returned to peace with our neighbors as well as among ourselves. Now the king publicly executes criminals. What is their crime? They incurred the king’s displeasure.”
Maria swallowed deeply. “I . . . knew this, but I did not want to know. I pretended . . .”
“You pretended it didn’t matter. But it does matter. And now his bloodlust, his insanity, has spread to our neighbors. Princess Bettina among them. She not only countenances public execution. She avidly watches.”
“Is there anyone else you would find suitable?”
“The woman I love.” He turned away from her again, letting the hammer dangle idly from his right hand. “She is a natural empath. She won’t even eat meat because she shares in the death of the animal that gave its life to feed others.”
“If you love her so deeply, why did you leave her?”
“I made an excuse so she wouldn’t know how I pushed her away when I should have embraced her and helped her weather the emotional storm of . . . of . . . doing what I did not have the stomach . . . the courage to do. She killed the man who conjured the storm that nearly destroyed Coronnan. She used my knife because she knew I could not do it.”
He paused a long time, looking into the distance, his throat working as if he choked back tears. “I felt the man’s death. Lily and I had developed a bond. A strong bond born of companionship—friendship—and then love. Her empathy forced her to share in the man’s death, and I . . . I felt it too. We both died a little bit in those moments, when his eyes glazed and his spirit passed beyond.” He gulped and firmed his jaw. “We both needed time apart to heal. Every day I stay here and see what he and my father have done to Amazonia, I heal. I no longer regret the man’s death. I’d do it again even if it cost me my own life.”
“Who did she kill?” Maria covered her face with her hands, knowing.
“We knew him as ‘Sir.’”
“The magician who came and went on his own schedule for nearly ten years. The man who advised your father . . .”
“The man who introduced the king to the Krakatrice. The man who exported Krakatrice eggs to Coronnan to destroy that kingdom for whatever reason he thought valid. Samlan, a master magician and teacher at the University of Magicians in Coronnan until he defied their ruling council and was exiled.”
“He took up permanent residence here in the castle last spring.”
“Until midsummer when he conjured the storm with his other exiled masters and apprentices. He diverted Master Robb’s transport spell here so that he couldn’t help destroy the Krakatrice in Coronnan. Then he coerced Robb’s journeymen and apprentices to help him. But he is dead now. They are all dead. My Lily killed him, and I deserted her so that we could both learn to accept that sometimes such a death is necessary. That gentlest, most nurturing woman in all of Kardia Hodos was braver and stronger than I.” He gulped convulsively.
Maria watched his throat apple convulse as he choked back strong emotions.
“I would marry her in an instant if I knew how to get her back. The princesses you parade before me would pale in contrast to her. I would go into such a marriage reluctantly, and only if I knew for certain Lily would never have me.”
“If you will not marry, we are lost.”
“We have you, Aunt Maria.”
“No. I cannot. I am . . .” She waved vaguely at her twisted hip. It ached suddenly, despite the carefully placed pillows and padding.
“Long ago our queens led warriors into battle. They commanded armies of men and women. But they ruled with the loving and nurturing perspective of a mother. Not all of our queens have been warriors,” he said.
“But they were all mothers of daughters.”
“Not all of them. Remember the history you taught me, Aunt Maria. The first Maria never married. She never bore children. In fact, she loved another woman; I believe her name was Helvess. And then there was Joanna III, she married and bore one son who died young of a wasting sickness. In both cases a natural heir rose from the ranks of women warriors.”
“Your father disbanded the troops of women warriors.”
“Because he was afraid one of t
hem would displace him.”
“Afraid?” Maria nearly choked on her snort of derision. “Your father was never afraid of anything.”
“He’s afraid of you.”
“Nonsense.”
“Why do you think he has allowed you to live? He has kept you here safe and secure and believing that you are unworthy to rule because he knows that any threat to you will bring down the wrath of every female who ever thought of becoming a warrior as well as the ordinary women who run businesses and manage families.”
“I am invisible. No one remembers me.”
“You’d be surprised. Here, I’ve fixed your boot so that you can walk more comfortably.” He held up her shoe, showing how he’d added an extra inch to the sole. Then he knelt in front of her and slipped it over her stunted foot. Gently he tightened the lacings and tied them in a neat bow.
“You wear long skirts to cover the unevenness in your legs. You work hard to disguise your limp. This will make the limp even less noticeable, put less strain on your body. You are strong, Aunt Maria. I think the time has come to show that strength and take back what is your right.”
“But I have no heir unless you marry.”
“You can give us time to find the right bride for me. You can give us time to heal from Lokeen’s tyranny.”
“Leave me. I can’t do what you ask.”
“But will you do what the women warriors sneaking back to their posts demand of you? Gerta’s friends bring one or two every half day, displacing men who blindly follow the king. I do not ask where those men disappear to.” He rose with that musical grace he’d always had, bowed respectfully, and sauntered out of her private parlor whistling a martial tune composed by the first Maria nearly a thousand years before.
CHAPTER 29
“WHY, WHY, WHY did I let the boys convince me to remain here?” Robb asked the ether through chattering teeth. Cold sweat poured off his brow and across his chest. The tiny stone cell spun every time he turned his head. His heart beat double time and so loudly he could hear little else but his pulse hammering into his head like a long iron spike. “Must be a fever,” he said aloud, just to hear his own voice and presume he wasn’t hallucinating.
Was that the grating of a key in the lock? He couldn’t be certain. Liquid filled the cavity behind his ears and refused to shift or drain, muting all of his senses except the cold and aching joints and racing heart.
“He’ll need to be carried, my lady,” a man said. It sounded like Badger, but Robb couldn’t be sure. Maybe he only dreamed the presence of three men and the tiny woman inside his cell. If he dreamed, then he must be asleep, and sleep healed. Maigret had told him that often over their years together.
“Wrap him in more blankets, like a litter. We have to get him out of this place,” Lady Maria said sternly.
“Who are you to order the moving of my prisoner?” a newcomer demanded.
“I am chatelaine,” Lady Maria said sternly.
“And I am captain of the guard. All of the prisoners are my responsibility, and I say he remains.”
“Everything and everyone within the castle walls are my responsibility,” she insisted. Good for her. She’d been so meek and accepting of other people’s decisions he’d doubted her capable of holding to a decision. Robb wondered what had given her the courage to defy the captain—the king’s right-hand man.
“Not me and my prisoners.”
“Would you care to dispute that with the Great Mother?”
The men who had come in with her all gasped.
“I will take this up with the king,” the captain said. He turned abruptly on his heel and started to leave.
“The king is in bed with Princess Rejiia. Do you care to disturb him over something so trivial as the welfare of one prisoner? The one prisoner he has ordered you to keep alive?”
Rejiia! No. It couldn’t be. For the past fifteen years the daughter of Lord Krej of Saria and the leader of the dreaded magical Coven had been enscorcelled into her totem animal body: a black cat with one white ear.
What had restored her? Or did an imposter claim the lady’s name and rank?
“I have to . . . to . . .” Robb tried to roll over and leverage himself up. His head spun so rapidly he had to drop it back onto the pallet to find himself again. Bad idea. The pallet offered little cushioning, and now this headache throbbed through his entire body. Maybe if his eyes bled the pain would ease.
“He don’t look well, my lady,” Scurry said.
“We need a healer, Lady Maria,” Badger added.
“He’s nearly dead already,” the captain sneered. “Leave him overnight and he’ll no longer be a problem, or a source of dispute.”
“Take him to the tower now. Third story,” Lady Maria snapped. High enough for the air to be cleaner but not so high she couldn’t climb too many stairs to tend him. “And you, Captain, go into the city now. Do not come back until you have Levi and his apprentices. I know of no other healer who can deal with this.”
“Maigret. Send for Maigret,” Robb mumbled. If he died tonight, he wanted to see his wife one more time. He wanted to loose the bonds of life in her arms. “Maigret is the wisest healer in Coronnan,” he added. “Summon Maigret, please.”
Lily did not look well. Much of the color she’d regained drained out of her face as she surveyed the line of grim farmers standing around the edges of the fields that should be nearing harvest. Instead, they all held torches. Lily held her staff up as a symbol of her authority as well as her unity with the villagers in this painful task. Tears streaked the faces of the farmwives as they hoed the land clear of weeds and other greenery, making firebreaks on the periphery.
Dawn just touched the tops of the trees that marked the barrier between the undulating prairie and the road that skirted the Great Bay. Rapidly evaporating dew caught the light and sent it back out in an array of colors; tiny rainbows arced from plant to plant, turning the entire landscape into a delightful promise of a warm and clear day. New hope for today. And maybe tomorrow.
A perfect day for beginning the grain harvest.
A harvest that could not happen. Every plant and root was tainted with illness left behind by the hatching of the monster Krakatrice.
“I asked the dragons to bring us food enough to get through the winter,” Souska reminded them all. She didn’t add that Krystaal had given ambivalent answers. She didn’t know that her plea would be answered. But she had to give these people hope.
“The dragons brought us the cure. They will not abandon us now,” Lily said in a voice that projected to the far corners of the cultivated land.
“Not even forage for the animals,” the man next to Souska grumbled.
“We can take them farther afield. Away from anything the snakes may have touched,” Souska said, trying desperately to soothe him and herself.
“Might as well move the whole village,” an old woman said. “Chickens and goats will walk off all their meat going from here to safe grazing.” She mumbled something more that sounded like curses.
“That may be helpful,” Lily agreed, chewing her lower lip. “Once we’ve built new houses on the next ridge, we can burn these too, get totally away from any residual miasma.”
“What will be left to build with? Turf?” Stanil, the village headman, asked.
Souska couldn’t be sure of his name. Names and position and relationship held less importance to her than how each reacted to her treatment of the illness. She thought that he’d begun recovering on his own—or possibly had an immunity to the disease—and had helped Lily tend the desperately ill and dying before Souska arrived. He’d been the only one strong enough to dig graves.
Bitter anger rose in Souska, flaming her cheeks and drying her tears. It was not right that these people should lose everything, their lives, their land, their very future.
Burning she could understand. Her gran had told of a time long ago when blight hit the rye and they had to burn the crop. But must they then sow the land with salt
? That would render it sterile for many years to come. Nothing would grow. Not even fireweed that would at least offer forage for the animals.
Crying heavily, Lily lowered her staff, the grain in the length of wood not twisted or knotted at all from the little bit of magic she might have pushed through the primary tool of a magician. One by one the men stationed around the edges followed her example and lowered their torches. They did not touch flame to the plants. Not yet. Delay as long as possible and retain some small hope of reprieve.
“Wait!” Souska yelled. She gripped Lily’s arm with fierce fingers digging into the muscle.
“What?” Lily asked, dazed and confused. She looked like once she’d set her mind to torching the fields, she could think of nothing else.
The others with torches straightened, relief written all over their faces and in their posture. They understood the necessity, but clearly did not want to burn the fields.
“I have to taste the dirt. I have to know that this is the right thing to do.”
“You don’t trust the dragons? Krystaal said most firmly that we must cleanse the land with fire and salt to erase all trace of the Krakatrice.”
“I trust the Kardia to know what it needs to bring it back into balance.” Souska fixed a determined gaze on the other healer. Then, without waiting for permission she knelt on the verge and loosened a handful of dirt with trembling fingers. She hesitated. Sickness had come from the land. She’d be the next victim.
One breath and hold; release and hold. Repeat. She focused inward, clearing her mind of all but the need to separate and examine each component of the dirt. She knew what should be there. It was her responsibility to determine what should not be there and find what was missing or in too much abundance to balance it.
Her gran had never trusted the dragons. “They knows what they knows. They needs what they needs. But they don’t always know what we know. Or what we need,” the old woman had said when Souska was five and they’d caught a rare glimpse of a blue-tipped wing and horns soaring across the sky.
The Wandering Dragon (Children of the Dragon Nimbus) Page 22