by Steven Poore
There was another rise, around half a mile to the south. This one looked high enough to keep watch on the surrounding area. And Craw would be able to find them there. Better yet, there were dense, tangling bushes on one side of the hill; they would be another barrier for any pursuers to overcome, as well as providing more kindling.
“Sweet Peleanna, do we have to go so far?” Rais grumbled. “My feet are frozen. And my shirt will be ruined.”
“That will be the least of our problems if we can’t get a fire started,” Cassia replied. She looked upwards, searching for the clouds she could feel pushing down upon her shoulders, but the skies were still relatively clear.
There was enough dead foliage on the ground to bulk out the kindling. It was not as dry, but she judged it would soon catch. She scooped out a small pit with her bare hands on the sheltered side of the slope, found her flints, and quickly built up the beginnings of a fire. In some respects it was a surprise to discover her old skills had not been diminished by her time in the cities. She was pleased at that, but memories of her father intruded – impotent with drink and rage and cursing her very existence as she worked feverishly to cook him a meal on a fire that always seemed on the verge of going out – and took the pleasure from it.
“I know something about cooking,” Rais said. “You cannot cook an egg without a pan and water.”
“Of course not,” Cassia agreed. It was easier than starting another argument with him. “Keep watch on the fields there, please, my lord.”
Before, she had used a piece of loose slate as a plate that could be heated over the fire. There was no time to hunt for something suitable now, so she borrowed one of the silver pins that Rais used to secure his cloak and carefully pierced the top of each egg. After that she broke the yolk and stirred the contents with a long blade of grass, and set the eggs at the very edge of the fire. This method would take a little longer, but there was no other option. Merely staring at the eggs, waiting for the tell-tale bubbling from the tiny punctures to cease, made her stomach roll with hunger. Rais was correct – they could not live on eggs alone. She would not tell him that. He would be insufferable.
“My great-fathers must have been quite mad,” Rais said from where he crouched, surveying the terrain.
“Why do you say that?”
He gestured down the hill. “Who would want such a land? I don’t see why anyone would ever have crossed the sea to fight for this.”
Cassia stared at his back. He was baiting her, she thought. Trying to make her as uncomfortable as he already felt. “I can’t answer that. Hellea is not my land.”
“But you are here to save it nonetheless.”
“And to save Galliarca too. You seem to have forgotten that.”
“Hardly, given how quickly that dragon of yours crossed the ocean. I have to assume that Caenthell’s evil will travel as fast. My father’s ships will take weeks to make that journey.” He could turn from mockery to serious intelligence with barely a flicker. It kept Cassia’s estimation of him irritatingly off-balance and inaccurate. “So we are truly on our own. Perhaps you should tell me your plan.”
This is where it would become difficult. On one hand, she was still not sure how far she could trust the prince. He had offered his help, but he had also tried to manoeuvre her to suit his own schemes. On the other hand – he was right. Again. They were on their own now. If she failed, if she fell . . .
I cannot fail. I cannot.
She fed branches onto the fire, trying to direct the heat towards the eggs without disturbing them. A couple of the pierced holes had begun to bubble.
Rais glanced back over his shoulder at her. “You have a plan, I trust? You have conferred with Malessar?”
“Briefly,” she said. “It’s more an idea than a plan.”
His shoulders dropped. “An idea,” he repeated. “Now I don’t know who is more insane – you or myself. What is all that you brought with us? Part of the idea?”
Cassia nodded. “From what Baum told me once. He never told me the whole truth, but I don’t think he ever lied to me either. Malessar did not say as much, but I think he understands what I’m going to do. And I think he approves of it,” she added after a moment, surprised by her own conclusion.
“Torcilides once told me that anything a sorcerer approves of is, by definition, dangerous to everyone but himself,” Rais said. “I will apparently have the opportunity to see that proven first hand. How very reassuring.”
He sighed and adjusted the blade that hung at his belt. “If there is anybody out there, they are choosing to remain in hiding. This is quite pointless.”
Cassia considered throwing an egg at his head for a moment, but decided not to waste their food. “Keep watch for Craw, then.”
The silence that followed was punctuated by the popping of firewood and the faint hissing of the pierced eggshells. Cassia kept her mind focused upon her efforts, conscious all the while that Rais watched her as much as anything else. His presence made her uncomfortable enough anyway, without such unwanted attention. Sometimes she felt brave enough – armoured by her title and her alliance with the dragon – to stand against him, but more often she did not want to confront him.
After a while the prince began to hum a tune under his breath. She recognised it, though she could not put a name to it. The song made her think of Galliarca again, of the nights she had spent telling stories in Fahrian Square. Of practising her forms on the roof of Malessar’s dhar, the heat of the sun baking the tiles beneath her feet, scorching her skin if she stood in one spot for too long. Of afternoons in the shade of the garden, where the blooms Narjess tended filled the air with soft fragrances.
And suddenly she was in a different world again. Like it never happened. Like it was all nothing but a dream. A fanciful tale. The wind shifted a few degrees and she shivered. The land was full of dark silhouettes now, the farmhouses little more than shapes in the distance. Rais was right. Again. Hellea was not a very welcoming land.
“Do you think the Emperor will listen to you?” Rais asked at length.
She considered the question for a moment. “No. I don’t think so. Why should he?”
“Would he listen to Craw?”
Cassia shook her head. One of the eggs had stopped bubbling at last; she used a stick to roll it away from the fire to cool. “Calling upon Craw in the palace was a last resort. I do not want to do that again.”
She chose not to add that she did not want to place herself in the dragon’s debt any more than she already had. She still had no idea how or when Craw would call in his markers, and she did not look forward to finding out. Craw had been only too happy to lend his assistance back in Galliarca, and only afterwards had Cassia realised what she had done.
Never accept help from a dragon. One old tale went further with that axiom: dragons do not offer help. They offer fate.
“He might listen to you, though,” she pointed out.
Rais grunted. “Most unlikely of all.” He paused. “Are you serious? Is that part of your idea? To have me walk into Hellea’s palace and demand to see the Emperor?”
Cassia shook her head. “Of course not, sir. But . . .”
“Hah. It wouldn’t work, you know. Hellea does not much like my father. Olim had to winter in the city a few years ago, when he courted one of the daughters of Kalakhadze. By all accounts that did not go well. My name is no guarantee of an audience.”
She rolled another two eggs from the fire. One problem at a time, she thought. First, get to the city. “These are ready, though you should let them cool a little before you crack the shells.”
Rais abandoned his watch to join her at the fire. “You’re doing this on your own, then?” he said. “Do you realise you are going against the will of your own gods?”
That halted her. “What do you mean?”
“If I understand things correctly, it was Pyraete’s will that the curse on Caenthell should be reversed. The God of the North will not be happy if he discove
rs someone wishes to reinstate it. You know what they say about angering the gods.”
“But if I am the Heir to the North, then Caenthell is mine to do with as I wish,” Cassia said slowly, following the threads of her own thoughts as she spoke. “I can feel the North calling to me. It wants me there. It will let me in.” She watched the prince deftly peel away an eggshell; he flicked it into the fire and tore the egg itself in half. “All I need to do is get back into Caenthell.”
“It may let you in, as you say.” Rais paused momentarily to chew and swallow. “But will it let you back out?”
“That won’t matter,” Cassia said.
Rais sat up suddenly, and his hand dropped to the hilt of his sword. He peered into the evening gloom as though he expected an entire legion to march up onto the top of the cliffs. “Hush,” he whispered.
Cassia felt a shiver run through her arms. Her fingers were numb. She pushed away from the glow of the fire so it did not interfere with her sight. The small community they had raided must have decided to pursue them after all. A man and a girl – that’s all. Not true pirates or slavers. We can drive them off the cliffs. Smash them onto the rocks below as a warning. She drew her own blade, and the hiss it made as it left the sheath sounded absurdly loud on the hilltop.
“Stand and show yourself!” Rais called. Then he cursed and repeated himself in Hellean. “Stand, I said!”
The wind whipped through the stunted brush, but there was no answer. Cassia glanced over at Rais and found the prince also wore a nervous expression. His knees bent to make a smaller target – and to ready himself for flight, she thought. She could not fault him. Meredith had drilled her to take the same sort of stance.
For an agonisingly long moment nothing happened. Then something moved. The hillside moved. It lifted and stretched, a huge beast snapping its spine into place. Rais staggered back, a terrified curse exploding from his lips. Cassia felt the drums thud against her temples, harder than ever.
If you insist.
The dragon’s eyes glowed in the dark. It was not a welcoming light. It seemed to pierce her skin and freeze her soul.
“How in all the hells did you sneak up on us like that? How dare you?” Rais shouted. There was as much anger in his voice as terror.
Craw’s head swung down to confront him, halting merely an arm’s reach away. Cassia saw the prince stand motionless, sudden realisation plain upon his face. He had shouted at a dragon. No story where that happened had ever turned out well.
Sneak? Craw’s tone was ice cold. I do not sneak.
Cassia finally managed to move, hurrying over to place herself between Craw and Rais, reaching behind to shove him further back. “Stop this, please, Craw. He did not mean anything. You surprised him, that is all.”
The dragon did not blink. Its eyes held her own, drawing her in. Drawing her closer to its sleek, lethal jaw. Teeth that would snap her in half with so little effort. It waited, and said nothing.
“Rais,” Cassia said at last. “Apologise, please.”
She heard the prince draw in breath to protest – or to say something even more provocative – and she reached back again to thump his arm.
“I apologise,” Rais said flatly. “I misspoke.”
You were not keeping watch. A good thing for you that the farmers of this region were too cowardly to defend their homes. They have, however, sent runners to the next village.
“You’ve seen them?” Cassia asked. “Then we should probably leave.”
I shall not argue. And your companion?
She looked at Rais. He had just about managed to smother the core of terror that he had shown, but it was still visible behind his eyes. “He’ll be silent.”
Good.
She scooped up the remaining eggs and thrust them at him, regardless of their heat. “Here. Pack these and get the bags. I’ll take care of the fire.”
She did not wait to see what he did. Instead she kicked dirt over the fire-pit until the flames had been dampened to a glow, then gathered up her own things. Craw had shifted onto the crest of the hill, stretching its head into the wind. The prince stood to one side, his arms folded. The packs were at his feet. Cassia thought he looked ready to bolt. Oh great. Just what I need. I didn’t even want his help to begin with.
She sighed and struggled to keep the exhaustion from her voice. “Craw. Please.”
The dragon did not look at her.
“You want me to succeed in this, don’t you?” She was certain of it: Craw would not tell her why, and she doubted she would like its reasons, but it was true nonetheless. “Then apologise. Or you can lead the fight by yourself.”
Craw slowly craned its neck around until it faced Rais. Then, without a word, it nodded – once, and slowly, deliberately – to the prince.
“Good,” Cassia said heavily. “Thank you. Best of friends. Now, please, let’s be away.”
Both prince and dragon glowered at her. She ignored them, hefted her packs and secured her sword and staff, and hauled herself up onto Craw’s shoulders.
Gelis, Pelicos, damn them all. They had it easy.
7
If Galliarca was now distant enough to have been a dream, then Hellea was the nightmare that followed. Seen from the air, the city was a riotous haze of fires and smoke, the muffled beating of drums tumbling over each other in a vain battle for dominance. For a while, as Craw spread its wings and glided in a wide circle high above the Castaria, Cassia thought the city was already under siege, its defenders forced back into the districts around the palace and the temples, while the outlying streets had been put to the torch. But then Craw descended further and her perspective altered. The fires were in the temple squares and the markets, and she could not hear any sound of fighting amidst the confusion below.
Of course. She had lost all track of the seasons. She cursed her stupidity with no small degree of relief. The harvests must be over. This was a celebration, a festival. Her memories clicked back into place. This would be the Feast of Saihri, patron goddess of the city and immortal mother of the First Emperor, Manethrar. It was celebrated in Keskor – as, indeed, it would be everywhere that acknowledged Hellea’s rule – but despite the Factor’s insistence, it had never been seen as an important feast day there.
“Can they see us?” Rais asked in a low voice. The prince had been silent since they left the coast behind to seek the Castaria, following the course of the great river upstream. With daylight gone, the air was bitterly cold and she had felt him shivering miserably behind her.
No, Craw replied. I do not think so. The light and smoke below aid us. They ruin your feeble perception.
Rais tensed, but wisely did not say anything else.
She stared over the side of the dragon’s shoulders with dismay and impatience. If the celebrations continued through the night then it would be impossible to land within the city without causing a murderous panic. Galliarca had been one thing; Hellea was another.
Craw clearly had the same thought. It veered away, parallel to the coast, leaving the city behind. Even the docks looked far quieter than they should have done. Cassia remembered how busy they had been on the night before she had first left Hellea.
“Outside the gates?” she guessed.
Craw descended slowly through the darkness – a massive, silent predator. It was no real stretch to imagine the dragons of the Age of Talons terrorising whole countries, appearing from the black of night with no warning until the first tremendous blast of fire seared the ground. And did Craw do that too? It might have called itself Malessar’s friend, but it was still a dragon.
They landed at the edge of an orchard, the trees within now stripped of all fruit and the grand house beyond dark and presumably deserted for the festival. Cassia slid from her perch, reaching for the ground with uncertain feet, the packs unbalancing her more than her cramped limbs could. There was a nagging sense of familiarity about the place, even though it was anonymous in the night.
The same place where I c
aught that rabbit? Surely not. Those kinds of coincidences only ever occurred in stories. And even if her life now resembled those same stories, it was surely only her mind playing tricks on her.
“So, what now?” Rais asked in a low voice. He was nothing more than a silhouette; shades of darkness but for his eyes. The dragon loomed behind him, stretching its wings and raising its head to taste the air. “Have you even thought this far ahead, Cassia? If you propose that we walk into the city and try to gain an audience with the Emperor himself – tonight of all nights! – then you will be going on your own.”
“I thought you were here to look after your interests,” she said.
“The first of which is my own well-being,” Rais replied. “There are not many Galliarcan faces in the Hellean court these days. Certainly not live ones.”
She shouldered her packs, shifting the weight to sit fair on her back. This felt like the old times, the old days of bearing her father’s burdens along crumbling mountain trails, slipping in the failing light as she sought the best shelter for the night while Norrow rode the mule in a drunken stupor. Days that were not so far removed, after all.
The rabbit was still on her mind. That led her back to the narrow room lined with damp benches and close-mouthed sailors where the idea had first occurred to her, and the bitter brew that Arca had shared with her in consolation when Baum left her behind.
At least, she had believed he had left her behind.
There were some questions that needed answering.
“I think the Hellean court can wait – at least until the morning,” she said. “There are other people I need to talk to first.”
“Oh, very mysterious,” Rais muttered. “I hope that food and rest are also part of your cunning plan.”
Cassia ignored his sarcastic tone and turned back to the dragon. She sensed that Craw was waiting for her to do, or to say, something more. As before, she stood on the edge of a precipice, balanced on a point between two unfathomable depths. The dragon appeared to have some knowledge of which way she would fall. That did not make the falling any easier.