Onward Dek drove the demon, past the shattered door where it had been imprisoned and into a new cell. He formed the locking magic in his mind. There was a moment of silence before a deafening roar erupted. The demon slammed itself against the cell door with a resounding bang. Dust fell from between bricks. The door vibrated. The attacks grew weaker as the demon slipped back into limbo, then stopped all together.
Orane carefully inspected the writing on the floor and the empty vial. “This is very disturbing. I have seen these symbols only once, in a scroll that is secreted from all but a few of my order, for it was written by the Barasha. I cannot tell what was in the vial, but I’m certain it is why the queen went into labor prematurely.”
“Maltey said Baras protected his servants The Barasha.”
Orane shook his head. “It must have been a wishful boast. Though he obviously found a copy or fragment of a scroll, he cannot be a Barasha. The wizards wrote clearly of that foul order’s utter destruction.” Orane wiped away the symbols in the dust before ascending the stairs.
Yetig commanded his soldiers to bring the wounded to Telasec. The dead were reverently laid in the courtyard and covered with cloaks or bedding. Vara’s body was placed in her carriage.
Dek walked slowly to the crystal sphere. He now knew the power of the crown to defeat any army or foe. There was no need to convene a council of barons to settle the dispute between east and west. It was possible to command Etera and Quib to do as he chose. He need not stop with Carandir. No force could stand before him. King Dek. Lord of the world. "Even the dragons will bow before me."
It was not so much his own blasphemy that shocked him. It was the realization of how easily the temptation of corruption had come. The crown now sat like a weight upon his head. He was certain Maltey intended to break the holding spell and release Baras. Dek speculated if Maltey would have been able to surrender the crown afterward?
He glanced over to see Haram watching from across the keep. The two men's eyes met. Dek took the key, which did not burn him while he wore the crown, and dropped it in the drawer which snapped shut. Then, he removed the crown from his head, placed it inside the sphere and shut it. The crystal sealed itself whole once more. The baron looked back to the king. Haram nodded his head and fell unconscious. Dek made the sign of the covenant.
Etera approached from across the keep. His face was pale and his voice wavered as he spoke. “My daughter is dead.”
Dek bowed his head, “I am truly sorry, Etera.”
Etera either ignored or did not hear the condolence. “The king may not survive the day. For the first time in the history of Carandir there is a threat to the succession.”
“Has the heir died as well?”
“Both babes live. But, the ribbon that was tied around the heirs wrist fell off in his crib. The Daro healer who handed the babes to the two soldiers was killed and neither of the men knows which child came from which crib.”
“Father of Dragons.”
Etera summoned Orane and Telasec to join them in council. Orane sat on some rubble and studied a leather-bound manuscript whose pages were yellow with age. “There is no reference in the books I brought as to how we might discern the true heir short of the test of the dragon key. Of course, there are uncounted scrolls and books in the archives, as well as the manuscripts left by the wizards in the deep vaults that have never been translated.”
Dek paced the floor. “Let us touch a finger of each babe to the key now to see which can suffer its touch. We can surly pull their hands back before they are hurt.”
Orane closed the book. “I am afraid that will not work. The heir cannot take the key before the king’s death.”
Telasec looked to the corner where Haram lay wrapped in a cloak. “That time may come soon, Master Orane. The king took much hurt from the demon. His life drains quickly. I fear I lack the power to keep him from the eternal Dragons’ Halls.”
They all made the sign of the covenant. Orane said, “And even if the king died this moment, there is no way to tell which is the heir before the age of twenty. Until then, it will burn the hand of any who touch it.”
“There must be some way around such a dilemma,” said Dek. “What if an heir dies before twenty?”
“The magical birthright passes to the heir’s eldest child. If there is no issue, lineage flows to the eldest niece or nephew. Neither Haram nor Vara have either.”
“Not a brother or sister?”
“No. Jorondel and Ilidel, in their wisdom, made this so to prevent a sibling from taking the crown through assassination.”
Dek looked to the crystal sphere. “I can well see someone driven to murder for such a prize.”
Etera said, “What if the twins and the king die?”
The Kyar shook his head. “I do not know. In all the history of Carandir there has always a living heir. A regent was appointed when an heir was not yet twenty. Still, there was never a question of lineage.”
“There is now,” said Etera. “And I should be that regent. I am their grandfather, their closest kin.”
Dek knew Etera intended to poison the mind of the heir against the eastern houses. “If the king cannot designate a regent, the full council must.”
“The council will debate until we all fly to the Dragons’ Halls. We must decide this now.”
“I remind you that without the full council’s support any proclamation you make will be meaningless. The baronies will split into factions, each supporting one prince or the other.”
Etera stood up. “Then you have no choice but to support me in this, Dek. The alternative is civil war.”
As the company settled into sleep, Telasec kept a vigil with the king. She had worked magic most of her life. Still, seeing the demon and knowing its cold rage had drained her.
The door leading to the courtyard opened and a guard entered. Telasec saw the night sky through the opening. It was coal black with pin points of stars. Inside, the only light came from the banked fire in the hearth that cast enshrouded pools of darkness. The guard woke another soldier who collected his gear and went outside. The first man crawled into the other man’s bedroll and fell instantly asleep.
Telasec found herself slipping into slumber for an instant before dragging herself back again. The exhaustion, the darkness, the glow of the fire, all worked to create a waking dream.
A ball of mist no larger than a pebble appeared in the center of the room. Telasec dismissed it as an aberration of too little sleep. It grew to a disk the size of a person. Someone wearing robes and a hood stepped from the mist. The stranger walked to the cribs and touched the chest of one of the newborns.
Telasec awoke fully and sounded an alarm. Sleeping soldiers jumped to their feet and drew their weapons. The intruder moved both arms in a circular pattern to become enveloped in dense fog. The mist lasted for only a moment. When it cleared, the stranger was gone.
Telasec and Orane ran to the twins. On one of the infant’s chest was a small mark. When examined closely it resembled a leaping dragon. Telasec rubbed her finger over it.
Orane said, “Is it dye, Mistress?”
The Daro healer shook her head. “No. The skin blemish is true. This is magic beyond any that I or any I have ever known possess.”
Dek and Etera now stood by the crib. Dek ran his finger over the mark. “What does it mean? Is it the sign of Ilidel and Jorondel or Baras?”
Etera said, “It might be a sign to guide us, or mislead us. What color were the robes?”
“It was took dark to tell,” said Telasec.
A moan came from the other side of the keep. All four ran and knelt at the king’s side. Haram opened his eyes. His voice was barely audible. “Speak truthfully. What bodes for me?”
Etera began to answer, then stopped. Dek leaned forward. “The Daro cannot heal the hurt the demon wrought. You die, my king.”
Haram said, “And Vara?”
Dek held back tears, though his voice cracked. “I cannot lie, majesty. She a
waits you in the Dragons’ Halls.”
The king closed his eyes. “I knew, yet I had to hear. You are the Crown’s truest servant, Baron Dek, to speak so honestly.”
Telasec then told Haram of the confusion in which the twins were mixed up and the mysterious visitor who left the dragon mark.
The king said, “Listen now to the last decree of Haram Avar, monarch of Carandir. Name the child with the mark Ryckair, for faith, and his brother Craya, for hope. Etera. Dek. We name you co-regents, to hold power over all other barons until one of the twins can take the dragon shaped key and claim the crown.”
Haram’s voice became a whisper. “Dek. You have been greatly loyal to us.”
“I serve the Crown, my liege.”
“Yes. We saw you with the crown and know your choice. We owe you a debt. Name a boon and it is yours.”
Dek looked to the others. “My liege, if you so command, I name this. Grant that my daughter, Mirjel, shall take as husband the brother who suffers the touch of the key to become king and make her queen.”
Etera looked up sharply at Dek. “How can you take advantage of his majesty like this?”
Haram raised his hand. “Dek but obeys our command. Master Orane, let it be recorded that Lady Mirjel Rascalla, daughter of Baron Dek and Baroness Jea, shall wed the next king of Carandir and become queen of the realm. Let this union bind western and eastern houses alike into one council.”
“It is done, majesty.”
Etera saw his plans in ruin, but said nothing. He vowed that this would not be the end of his dreams.
Haram’s face relaxed. “I have often dreamt of rest, Dek, and have never known it.” Then, Haram Avar, one hundredth and eighty-ninth sovereign of Carandir, died.
Dek rose slowly and made the sign of the covenant. “Rest at last, majesty, and may the dragons protect us all.”
BOOK II
The Palace at Meth
Eighteen Years Later
CHAPTER THREE
Prince Ryckair Avar knelt at the edge of the fencing ring. Heavily quilted pads covered his arms, legs and chest. He wore a helmet and visor. In his hand was a blunted practice saber.
He watched his brother, Prince Craya, kneel motionless at the other side of the ring. The dragon mark on Ryckair’s chest began to burn and itch again. He gritted his teeth. Father of Dragons, he thought. Not now.
Yetig said, “Fence.” Ryckair pushed himself up. Craya was on top of him before he was able to stand. Ryckair just managed to raise his blade and deflect his brother’s blow. The burning on his chest intensified as he fought to concentrate.
Ryckair had never won a match against Craya. It was clear to him that his brother had inherited their father’s skill with the sword, not he, and Craya seized every opportunity to taunt his brother over it.
A trickle of sweat slid down Ryckair’s forehead and into one eye. He blinked repeatedly to drive away the sting.
More than anything, he wanted to win just once to stop the taunting. It was not that he was a poor swordsman. Craya was so much better, and not just at swordplay.
Though Telasec had thought them identical twins at birth, each boy grew to become distinct. Craya had dark, striking features. Young ladies of the court vied for his attention at balls and banquets. Ryckair, with sandy blond hair, was quite ordinary to look at. This alone caused him to be eclipsed by his brother, but Ryckair also carried the dragon mark. Some considered it to be a sign of good, others of evil. None wished to be too close to it.
All of these things had brought Ryckair to believe that the dragon shaped key would reject him and choose Craya as king in two years. His brother would win the throne as easily as he was winning this latest fencing match.
Ryckair parried a blow and searched for an opening to repost. He found none.
Craya lunged. Ryckair was barely able to deflect the attack. The burning itch on his chest struck again. It had begun as a gentle tingle the previous year. When he told Orane about it, the chief Kyar said it was nothing to be concerned about, though he offered no explanation. The tingling had intensified to an incessant itch and finally to the wretched burning he now felt.
He tried to force it from his mind, along with the buzz of conversation filtering from the young officers who urged the match on. The uniformed men and women formed a circle around the two princes and watched intently. It was apparent Craya could win at any time. Simply winning no longer amused him. The new sport was to see how hard he could make Ryckair work before the final touch.
He spied Yetig watching from the sidelines with the practiced eye of a master. At nearly fifty, he moved with the grace and agility of a man half his age. His jet black beard showed no sign of gray. There was always a sense of excitement and impending danger about him. Over the years he had risen in rank from captain of the king’s guard to narech, replacing Waser who had died six years after the twins’ birth.
Craya lunged and landed slightly off center. Ryckair saw an opening. With practiced skill he arched his blade around Craya’s defenses toward a touch. Ryckair thrilled at the look of surprise in his brother’s eyes.
With a desperate slash, Craya beat his brother’s sword aside, then dropped and rolled into Ryckair’s legs, knocking him to the ground. Craya was up in an instant, his blade within inches of Ryckair’s throat. “Yield, brother. Call me sword master to all present.”
Ryckair struggled to no effect.
Craya laughed. “You spend too much time in the Kyar’s vaults and not enough practicing on the field as a king should. Well, now you must do penitence. Lick my boot, brother dear.” Craya put his foot in Ryckair’s face.
Ryckair grabbed the boot and shoved Craya to the ground. He jumped up and raised his saber. Craya gave a howl of rage and got to his feet.
Narech Yetig’s voice cut across the combat. “Hold.”
On command, Ryckair pulled back. Craya pushed forward. Ryckair barely raised his blade in time to parry a strike to his head.
Yetig grabbed Craya by the wrist. “I said hold. In this yard I rule.”
Craya shook himself free. “It doesn’t matter. I still won.”
“No, Highness. I award this match to Prince Ryckair.”
At first Ryckair was not certain he had heard correctly. Then a wave of excitement washed over him.
Craya turned to Yetig. “I had him beaten. In a real battle he’d be dead.”
Yetig collected the fencing sabers from the brothers. “You committed one fatal mistake, Prince Craya. Instead of finishing your enemy while he lay on the ground, you taunted him. A soldier has no such luxury in, as you say, a real battle. Any hesitation allows your foe time to form a plan, as Prince Ryckair did when he grabbed your boot.”
The thrill of victory now ebbed as Ryckair saw the effect it had on Craya. He hadn’t wanted to win a match as much as put an end to the taunting. Now, he saw the humiliation Craya felt and a sudden sadness filled him for having taken away something that his brother cherished so deeply. “I didn’t have a plan, Narech Yetig. I simply acted in desperation.”
“Desperation is sometimes the best plan in battle, Prince Ryckair. Remember that. Both of you. The lesson is ended.”
Yetig left the field. Ryckair called after him, “Craya really won.”
Craya said, “I don’t need you to defend me.” He turned and walked away.
As Ryckair watched him go. A sour pit formed in his stomach as he remembered a time when they played together as boys and shared secrets.
He returned to his chambers in the north tower where servants helped him bath and change into white breeches and a blue doublet. His steward handed him a simple silver circlet unadorned with neither jewel nor image. Ryckair placed it upon his head.
Two guards accompanied Ryckair down the tapestry-lined corridor that connected the north tower where the living quarters where and south towers that housed the administration of the monarchy.
Between the north and south towers, just off the corridor, was the royal audience ha
ll. Ryckair paused at its rear entrance for a moment, then pushed open the double door.
Light streamed through an immense vaulted ceiling made entirely of crystal. Ryckair stood on a raised dais with the two thrones of Carandir. Ahead of him, down the north and south walls of the hall, were eighteen wooden boxes, one for each of the noble houses. They were separated from one another by waist high walls. Ryckair had always thought of them as miniature fortresses. At the foot of the thrones, encased inside the crystal sphere, was the crown.
He walked down the steps and stared into the eyes of the dragon crest. They terrified him. He was certain Craya was better suited to rule Carandir, but still, he feared that the key might chose him after all. This was a thought that Ryckair hid from everyone, even Orane, to whom he confided his greatest secrets.
He thought about Baron Dek’s daughter one of the boys would wed. As future suitors of an arranged marriage, the twins were not allowed to see her or even a portrait or statue of her until she was presented in court two years in the future. This was one of the many customs her people had brought with them from the city-state of Au east of the swamps after settling in Rascalla centuries before. Ryckair’s grandfather had met her as a young girl. Out of respect for Dek’s traditions, he had given no report.
He left the audience hall and walked down the corridor to a metal door located between the north and south towers. It was decorated with the reliefs of dragons in flight. Ryckair gave the doors a push and they silently opened. He walked through and left the guards to take up position outside.
Ryckair wound his way down a labyrinth of corridors. The walls were constructed from large blocks of stone that fit perfectly, even after having stood in place for thousands of years. He had read histories that suggested both wizards and the Barasha had hewn out the passageways at different times.
Glowing crystal globes supported by silver brackets lined the corridors. They had given off their soft light for longer than anyone remembered. Orane had once told Ryckair that the globes were one of the last relics left by the wizards before they vanished and that none were able to explain how they worked or create them again.
Dragons Unremembered Page 4