The song bird gave a terror filled scream, a sound Craya thought no bird capable of making. The feathers smoldered, then burst into flame. Reshna closed his eyes. “You will become king and deliver the crown of Carandir to me.”
Two of Yetig’s men led Craya away. Reshna retrieved the smoldering body of the bird and held it in his emaciated hand. “Is the site prepared, Yetig?”
“Those bodies that were not dragged into the pit have received wounds by sword or lance.”
“Excellent. Ackella, step forward.”
Ackella knelt. “Lord Reshna.”
“You have done well. Your reward will be boundless.”
“Thank you, My Lord.”
“Are you prepared to play the role of the lone survivor?”
“I will be most convincing.”
“Indeed you will.” Two Barasha priests grabbed Ackella by the arms while a third gouged out his right eye with a dagger.
Yetig and six of his men escorted a wagon from the site where Craya’s forces had been massacred. Ackella lay in the back with a bandage of rags over his empty eye socket.
A light rain left the ground damp. Yetig’s horse trudged across a muddy field that had been converted into a temporary city for the troops under Prince Ryckair’s command. Soldiers saluted the narech as they stood in front of tents flanked with racks of neatly stacked pikes. Cooking fires sent coils of smoke into the air as men marched in formations or practiced with swords on the grass.
Yetig guided the column into camp and up to the royal pavilion. He pulled his blue woolen cloak tight around himself. To the west, snow covered the high passes of the Yadra Mountains. A cold breeze carried the chill from its peaks.
Pennants bearing the dragon crest of the royal house of Avar waved overhead in the chill breeze. He dismounted. Four pike men saluted at Yetig’s approach.
He pointed to the wagon. “Take this man to a Daro healer.”
Yetig walked past the flaps and approached an inner curtain where two more guards stood. He stepped inside.
Prince Ryckair sat in a wooden chair as his personal guards stood beside him. Orane sat next to him. Yetig recited the story he had concocted to give the impression of a military attack on Craya’s camp. “The only bodies we found were Carandirian soldiers, Highness. Prince Craya is presumed captured. Lieutenant Ackella is the sole survivor. He lost an eye and was delirious when we found him. The Daro now tend to his wounds.”
Ryckair wanted nothing more than to dismiss them all. Every angry thought he had ever held towards his brother now seemed petty. “Do they hold him for ransom, Yetig?”
“I cannot tell, Highness. Colonel Herrik has sent scouts into the swamp but none had returned by the time I left.”
“I will lead troops into the swamp and find him.”
Yetig said, “Highness. I am as shocked and saddened as you, yet we must think first of Carandir. You cannot go into the swamp. It presents far too much danger to yourself and the monarchy.”
“What kind of example will I set by cowering here in camp while others face death? Would my father have waited here?”
Orane placed his hand on Ryckair’s arm. “Highness, your father was a great leader. No one questioned his bravery. Still, he never placed Carandir at risk. It is, at best, a tenuous stalemate that exists between the baronies. If the succession is questioned further, those threads will snap. If you are the true heir you must live to take the crown. If Craya was born first and dies you must live to father the child who will then take the crown. In either case, your safety is now paramount.”
“You speak as if he is already dead.”
Yetig knelt. “Highness. I will command my entire force in search of Prince Craya.”
Ryckair avoided eye contact with everyone. “I want a daily report by terec.”
“The last terec was dispatched to Meth this morning, Highness. None have yet returned. I will send word each morning by rider.”
Ryckair closed his eyes. “For the good of Carandir, I will stay behind. I wish to speak with Ackella as soon as he’s well enough to talk.”
When he learned Ackella was awake he ran to the Daro tent. The former spy opened his left eye. “Highness.” He held his voice faint.
Ryckair leaned forward. “Ackella. What happened to my brother?”
Ackella had been fully awake when he arrived at Ryckair’s camp. He only waited long enough for Yetig to get in position. He feigned a moan.
“Ackella, what happened?”
“We tried to stop them, Highness. We killed hundreds. They kept coming. I stood before Prince Craya and they did this to me.” He pointed at his eye patch and silently cursed Yetig for allowing the Barasha to maim him. His reward had better be great. “Then, they bound Prince Craya’s hands and feet and carried him away.”
“The Sinkarekans?”
Ackella raised himself up and looked into Ryckair’s face with his single eye. “The Karakiens. We were attacked by swampers led by Karakien officers. They took your brother, Highness. The Karakiens. Tell Narech Yetig. He must know before rumors spread in the ranks.”
Ackella fell back to the cot and pretended to pant.
Ryckair stood slowly. “This explains everything. They’ve made a second front to draw our forces from the south. That’s how the Southern Sinkarekans got the modern weapons. Dear Jorondel, Narech Yetig rides into a trap.”
“You must send a message to the narech by terec,” said Ackella, knowing full well that Yetig had already dispatched them all.
Ryckair said, “Yes. No, wait. There are no terecs in camp. I’ll send riders.”
“Highness. No one else can know of this. Not yet. If our troops learned that the Karakiens now attack from south and east it will spread panic. I will ride. Just set me on a horse.” He started to sit, then fell back on the cot.
Ryckair said, “Don’t be foolish. You can’t even get up.”
“Then, the narech is doomed.” Ackella saw hesitation in Ryckair’s face. If the prince sent one of his guards after Yetig the plan would fail. He said, “I remember now, Highness, just before I blacked out. They were taking Prince Craya to their base on a patch of high ground just south of Keleta Island. Narech Yetig knows the spot. It was terrible, Highness. The last thing I remember was Prince Craya calling your name and pleading for you to help him.”
Ryckair stood silently for a moment. “I will ride to Narech Yetig myself. He is only a span away. One rider can easily overtake a column.”
“You will do this, Highness?”
“It is the only way to save my brother and the monarchy.”
Ackella turned his head away and smiled.
The description of Craya’s ruined camp ran through Ryckair’s mind as he galloped over the low hills. At the same time, there was a sense of excitement at being a part of the campaign and knowing an important secret.
He rode over a ridge and saw Yetig, along with seven Carandir soldiers, waited on horseback in a depression below. He recognized one of them as Commander Petstra. Ryckair felt relieved at the thought of delivering the message and returning to camp. The ride had allowed time for Orane’s words to sink in.
He spurred his horse forward. “Narech Yetig. I have important news for you. I had to come.”
“Yes, Highness. I’ve been waiting for you.” Four of Yetig’s officers seized the prince and pulled him from his horse. At the top of the ridge two men in red robes appeared and moved down the hill. One cast his garments aside to stand naked.
Ryckair struggled. “What is this, narech? Who are these men?”
“Prince Ryckair, please understand that I act for the good of the Crown and of Carandir. Your brother must sit on the throne to annul the eastern baronies and return Carandir to stability so it can regain the greatness it has lost. This is the only way. I am truly sorry, Highness.”
The other Barasha priest placed a bowl to the lips of the naked man. His face twisted as if it were a clay statue being molded. The skin rippled down his torso, ar
ms and legs before solidifying into an exact double of Ryckair, including the dragon mark on his chest.
All the stories Baron Dek had told of the demon and the Barasha came to Ryckair like a whirlwind. The soldiers wrestled the clothes from Ryckair and dressed his double in them. Lastly, they pulled the signet ring from Ryckair’s finger and placed it on the imposter’s.
The Barasha sprinkled powder over the head of Ryckair’s double who rocked on their feet and fell into a catatonic state.
The Barasha priest spread another powder over Ryckair. The prince felt dizzy. The world blurred. Before he lost consciousness he saw Petstra draw their sword and hack Ryckair’s double to death.
CHAPTER SIX
The false story of Ryckair’s death preceded Craya’s military column as it made its way back to Meth. Yetig assigned his elite guard both to protect Craya and to make certain he remained under the narech’s control.
Craya rode on horseback at the head of the column. At the rear of the procession, in a place of honor, a wagon carried the body of Ryckair’s double. Unseen by any, the real Ryckair slept in a wagon near the middle of the procession, subdued by the Barasha’s spell.
Officials and commoners vented their rage, repeating the rumors they had heard; how Prince Craya had been rescued from swamp men by Narech Yetig; how Prince Ryckair had killed a dozen before his body was hacked to death; how raiders were prepared to attack from the swamps. Over and over Craya heard voices shouting, “Filthy, murdering devils!”
At first, Craya was elated with the knowledge that nothing now stood between him and the crown. He imagined his coronation as the heads of foreign states knelt to pay homage to the most powerful monarch in the world. The fact that Ryckair had to die was a sweet irony, the ultimate revenge.
But, as the procession drew closer to Meth, Craya felt a hollowness to his vengeance. It was not enough for his brother to simply die. Ryckair had to know Craya’s power, come to embrace it even as the knife pierced his skin. There was only one way to achieve this. He had to possess Mirjel before his brother died.
They rode past farmlands, villages and cities. Black pennants hung everywhere. When they reached the eastern shore of the Bay of Hasp they turned south. At sunset, the column rode into the city of Gelalan, second largest port in Carandir and the terminus for trade with the south and east.
Unlike the eastern cities, there were no walls around Gelalan. It had grown from a small fishing village to a major center of commerce. Goods from as far away as Au flowed through the stone and wooden warehouses, along with produce from fields and orchards, gold and silver from mines in the Yadra Mountains and rare items from the southern kingdoms, including Karaken, even though trade between the warring nations was forbidden by royal decree.
The streets of Gelalan were a maze of narrow pathways that ran between buildings ranging from one to three stories in height. Smoke from cooking fires left a haze in the air.
Craya’s column bivouacked near the docks where there was little activity at night and few to ask questions. Yetig’s men stood guard along the perimeter while Barasha priests watched over Ryckair. Spread throughout the company were taller southern Sinkarekans in Carandir uniforms.
After the few onlookers filtered away, the Barasha moved the unconscious Ryckair to the hold of a merchant ship.
As the moon set, a bearded man wearing a dark cloak and hood darted between shadows as he moved silently down one of Gelalan’s wharfs. Creases in his light brown face revealed a life on the road and his beard showed traces of gray. He scratched his wide nose and scanned the scene.
At a storage building with no windows and thumped on the door. It opened to a darkened interior. The man stepped inside and was immediately grabbed by strong hands. The door closed and someone opened the shutter of a lantern. Two muscular guards held the cloaked man by the arms while a woman and two men in finery sat behind a table. The woman was heavy set. Draped over her shoulders was a brocade cloak. She half smiled. “Well, Batu Kazmere. We were beginning to think you weren’t coming.”
Batu shook off the arms holding him, “What’s with the bully boys, Baroness Quib?”
Quib shrugged. “These are unsettled times, my friend.” She motioned to the guards who stepped away.
Batu removed his hood. “I had a little trouble getting through the militia tonight. My usual contacts were nowhere to be seen and I didn’t want to chance a bribe with someone new. Still, they weren’t able to stop me from delivering these.” He cut a slit in the hem of one sleeve and removed six iridescent stones, each the size of a pea. With a dramatic flair he placed them on the table in front of Quib.
The baroness picked one up and studied it. “By Ilidel’s wings, Karaken fire gems. Magnificent. How did you get these?”
“With great difficulty.”
Quib handed the stone to another man. “I can imagine, and it makes me all the sadder to say that I cannot handle them.”
“They are the highest quality stones and worth a fortune.”
“They would be, if I could sell them. But, with the mayhem over Prince Ryckair no one in Carandir will touch these.”
“Mayhem?”
“His murder.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You haven’t heard?”
“I rode directly up from the desert.”
“I see. Well, it seems swampers led by Karakan troops attacked our prince and hacked his body into pie meat. Pity. I had a hefty wager he would become king.”
Batu had never met or even seen any member of the royal house, yet, he was a Carandirian, even if he lived outside of the law. A sense of disbelief rose inside him, then fury. “When did this happen?”
“Over a week ago. It’s a great nuisance for trade. The army is checking everyone, even me. Perhaps, especially me. I’m surprised you got through. That’s why, as pretty as these are, I can’t take them.”
Batu leaned on the table. “We had a deal. I have debts to pay.”
“Oh, I understand your plight. If only you had brought me something more negotiable…” She looked at the fire gems again. “I’d have to take these to Au and I don’t know how I’d get them across the border. The carrying charges would eat any profit.”
“Then give me an advance until things cool down.”
Someone pounded loudly at the door. A voice shouted, “Open in the name of the Crown.”
One of Quib’s men grabbed Batu while the other opened a trap door in the floor. The baroness and her companions dropped through. Batu was thrown to the side. The man jumped down the hole and pulled the door shut behind him. Batu tried the handle but found the hatch bolted from the other side. A battering ram smashed against the outer door.
He looked up. The ceiling vaulted into a pitched roof with rafters spanning the room. He jumped, grabbed one of the beams and pulled himself up, then moved to the gable end of the building directly over the entrance. The door gave way and three town militia stormed into the room, followed by a Carandir army captain.
The officer went immediately to the table and picked up the fire gems. “So, that’s what he was carrying.” One of the militia pulled on the ring of the trap door.
“Don’t bother. They’re gone by now. Well, at least they didn’t get away with their booty.”
The soldiers continued to inspect the room. Batu waited silently with his body pressed against the gable. His foot slipped and scrapped across the wood.
The captain looked up.
Batu dropped from the rafters and ran out of the building. He darted in and out of alleys on the wharfs with the militia close behind.
He turned a corner and found his escape blocked by walls directly ahead and to the left. To his right, the wharf opened out onto the Bay of Hasp. The smell of tar from the pilings permeated the air.
He drew out two daggers from his boots. Running directly at the far wall, he jumped high, drove one of the daggers into the wood and pulled himself up as far as he could reach before driving the othe
r dagger into the wood and again pulled himself up. He repeated the action and steadily climbed the wall.
He dropped to the roof and listened. The militia appeared below. The captain said, “He must have jumped in and swam or he’s under the wharf. Shine that lantern out there. You two, get down and inspect the pilings.”
Batu crawled to the opposite edge. The buildings were set close together, but too many town militia filled the tiny alleys. He knew that he could catch their attention at any moment. Someone shouted, “Come on. He’s been spotted him in the water.” Everyone below him left. Batu stood and jumped to the next roof. It had a steep pitch and it was difficult to keep his grip. Slowly, he climbed to the peak and down the other side.
Another leap brought him to a building that overhung the wharf slightly. A merchant ship was moored next to it. A stiff breeze blew from the west and the vessel began to roll in the water so that the spars of the masts moved in toward the building and then away in a rhythmic undulation.
A voice came from below, “The captain wants us to check the roofs.” He looked out across the wharf. There were a dozen rooftops between him and the town. The ship continued to roll in the breeze. He timed the movement of the masts and leapt.
His hand caught canvas of the furled main topsail. He crawled up on the spar and looked down. There was no one on deck. After carefully moving to the mast, he climbed down the standing cordage, lifted the edge of a tarp covering one of the hatches and crawled inside.
It was utterly dark. From a flap in his cloak, he took out a candle and a small vial of oil with a cork stopper. He opened the vial and dipped the candle wick in, and then struck a flint. The spark caught and the candle gave off a steady light.
There was nothing in the hull except for a long, narrow box. Batu decided to hide inside until the militia abandoned their search. He pried the lid open with a dagger.
Inside lay Ryckair. Filthy rags covered the dragon birth-mark on his chest. Batu did not recognize the prince and thought him just a corpse until he noticed the rhythmic signs of breathing.
Dragons Unremembered Page 8