“Neither of us is reaching any island. I heard them talking. You get murdered and I get dumped overboard.”
“I assure you, I’m worth far more to my brother alive.”
“Look, I don’t know who you are or who your brother is. All I know is there were three men standing over us sharpening their knives. We’ve got to get out of here.”
“I won’t argue with that.” Ryckair walked unsteadily to the hatch and found it locked. “We are obviously under sail.”
Batu grabbed Ryckair by his ragged shirt. “Enough games. Who are you. Why do they want to kill you?”
Ryckair said, “You don’t know?”
“Should I?”
“I am Prince Ryckair.”
Batu closed his eyes. “I’m locked in a hold with a madman and a ship full of murderers.”
“I’ll explain later. We have to steal a launch. Have you ever rowed?”
“I’ve never been over water deeper than the Peret River.”
They heard footsteps. Ryckair whispered, “They’ll think us still asleep. Do you see any weapons?”
“Nothing. Wait.” Batu bent down and retrieved a large rock. “Ballast.”
Ryckair picked up a second rock. “Good.” He blew out the lantern and they hid next to the hatch.
It swung open and Petstra’s men stepped in. “Demon’s blood, the lamp’s gone out.”
With sharp blows to the head, Ryckair and Batu took the sailors down and made for the hatch. A shocking jar reverberated throughout the ship. Desperate shouts filtered from above. The hull resounded with a second shock. Water burst through a crack in the hull. “Quickly,” said Ryckair. “Top side.”
They ran up the stairs and out the hold into a dying sunset. Another crash came and both men were thrown to the aft deck. Ryckair looked up to see the long sinuous form of a huge water snake. The beast’s girth was as wide as a cart. Its scaly brown body towered above the ship. On the back of the creature, just behind the head, rode a human shaped form with the head of a fish. In one hand it carried a cross bow and in the other a shimmering cloth.
Ryckair made the sign of the covenant. “Jorondel’s blood, the Sarte.”
Eight more sea snakes with Sarte riders circled the foundering vessel. The crewmen did battle with arrows, slings and catapults that flung heated chains and boiling oil. Only the latter showed any effect on the scaly hides of the snakes.
The monsters continued to batter the hull as men fell into the water from the decks and rigging. Many were swept under the great bulk of the snakes and drowned. The riders maneuvered their water mounts towards the others and threw their shimmering cloths at the victims. As a cloth struck the water, it formed a spherical bubble that encased the struggling sailor. The bubble bobbed on the waves for a moment, then disappeared beneath the surface.
Batu dropped the rock he was still carrying. “That’s it. I’ve had enough.” He ran aft.
Dead and dying men lay everywhere. Another lurch threw Ryckair off balance. He tumbled forward over a low railing and down onto the main deck.
Commander Petstra faced one of the snakes. He shouted over his shoulder, “Don’t just stand there, fool, find a bow.” He turned and stared at the prince. “You.”
Petstra looked to the east just as the tip of the full moon rose over the horizon. He threw the leather pouch. It struck Ryckair, coating him in red powder. Petstra raised his sword and charged.
The prince grabbed a sword from a fallen sailor’s hand and deflected Petstra’s blow. The Sarte continued their assault. Petstra recited a spell in a language Ryckair recognized as the demon tongue.
The commander pushed Ryckair toward a catapult that now stood abandoned. Fire still blazed beneath an iron kettle that was filled with boiling oil. Block and tackle fell from the rigging above and struck Ryckair’s sword arm. Petstra slashed at the same instant, knocking the blade from the prince’s weakened grasp. An instant later, he finished the incantation and thrust his sword toward Ryckair’s heart.
Another sword swung between the two men and deflected Petstra’s blow. The commander lost his grip and his sword fell to the deck. Looking up, Ryckair saw Batu, sword in hand. The prince shot to his feet and ran full force into Petstra. The commander was knocked against the kettle and his left arm was immersed in the boiling oil up to the shoulder. He screamed and fell to the deck.
The prince and Batu ran up an aft ladder. A boat with four sets of oars hung from the stern. Batu stood and stared at the small craft, oblivious to the snakes. “I can’t swim.”
Ryckair said, “Just get in.”
Batu hesitated.
Ryckair pushed Batu into the boat and climbed in after him. He lowered it to the river. Once in the water, they rowed quickly away from the destruction.
The Star Fire listed to port with her bow protruding into the air as the aft hold filled with water. Ryckair and Batu rowed fervently to escape the sinking vessel. The snakes and riders paid the small boat no heed as they skillfully moved to round up the men who now dotted the surface.
Ryckair said, “I think we’re safe. Why did you come back?”
“I guess I have an affinity for madmen. Besides, where was I going to go?”
Ryckair laughed. “What’s your name?”
“Batu Kazmere. I’m… Well, let’s just say I’m a discreet purveyor of goods upon request. Now, who are you, really?”
Ryckair’s ragged shirt had been ripped in the fight. Batu stared at the birthmark. He reached out and touched it, then pulled his finger back quickly. “How can this be?”
“It’s a long story.” The prince eyed the full moon in the east, but he had no idea as how far south Carandir was. There were rations of dried meat and bread in the boat. Still, the supply was not enough to row completely across the Great River.
A crack came from the stricken ship. They watched as the bow upended to stand near vertical for a moment before sliding beneath the waves. They stopped rowing and stared at the curling swirl on the surface of the river where the Star Fire had floated a moment ago. Batu stood up, as though a higher elevation might bring back the vanished sight. “Great Father of Dragons.”
A water snake burst from the river and capsized the launch. Ryckair surfaced as one of the transparent cloths descending on him. The cloth was soft and cold to the touch. It wrapped around him and he felt as though he was suffocating before the fabric puffed out to form an air filled bubble. Ryckair bobbed on the surface of the water. He saw Batu encased in a similar bubble. A tug came from below. He looked down to see a line attached from his bubble to a snake. A jerk threw the him back against the side of the membrane and the bubble was pulled steadily beneath the water.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The hasty preparations for Craya’s coronation shocked Dek. By long tradition, there should have been a month of feasting and celebration before the prince took the crown. Instead, the barons were ordered to assemble with no more than fifty retainers, only five of which would be allowed in the royal audience hall. There had not even been time for Baroness Jea to travel from Rascalla. The line of courtly Lords and Ladies was cancelled. Worse, a serious diplomatic blunder was committed when Craya failed to invite a single foreign noble.
Most unnerving of all was his inability to see or hear from his daughter. Craya’s steward only said that Mirjel was busy preparing for the ceremony. Craya had avoided contact all together.
As the barons filled in, Dek searched the hall for some sign of Mirjel and caught the merest glimpse of a shadowy figure standing behind Craya. From his position, he was unable to make out who it was.
Craya sat on the left hand throne surrounded by his personal guard. Orane and Telasec stood next to the crystal sphere that encased the crown. The barons took their places in their boxed seats along the north and south walls. With so few in attendance, the hall felt nearly deserted.
A fanfare of trumpets sounded. Craya stepped down from the dais and stood before Orane and Telasec. The Kyar scholar opened the dr
awer in the pedestal He and Telasec recited together in the formal court language. “Oh high and mighty Lord, receive now thy birthright. Take the key and accept into thy care the dragon crested crown of Avar the Great, first monarch and steward of the land, for each… ”
Craya snatched the key from the drawer and held it aloft before they could finish the liturgy. “I, Craya Avar, by right of birth, declare myself ki…” A sharp ache tore down his arm. “king of Cara…” The key became molten hot. Craya screamed and dropped it. Reshna pushed forward from behind a curtain. “Fool! Your brother lives.”
The key struck the marble floor. A blinding flash of light engulfed the hall, followed by a deafening boom. Courtiers were knocked from their feet. Barons sitting in the closest boxes were blown against their low walls. The eastern houses at the far end of the hall were less affected. Dek found himself blinded for only an instant. He rubbed his eyes and quickly regained his sight.
Craya knelt before the crown that was still encased in the crystal sphere. His hand was burned and he screamed in pain. People ran about shouting and screaming or laid on the floor either flailing in pain or motionless. Where the key had struck the floor the marble was scorched, but the key itself had vanished. Dek saw that the figure he had spied earlier was unmistakably his daughter. She had been shielded from the blast by the back of Craya’s throne.
Mirjel blinked to clear her eyesight. She saw her father and shouted, “Ryckair lives. Craya and Yetig have betrayed us to the Barasha.”
Dek drew his sword. “Rise Carandir. Rise and defend Prince Ryckair, the true heir.” The eastern houses and their handful of troops charged the thrones. Baroness Quib remained behind, then slipped out of the audience hall unnoticed.
Dek reached Etera’s box near the front of the hall. The aged baron sat stunned with blood seeping from his mouth and nose. Dek took Etera’s hand. “Can you hear me?”
Etera Breathed in hard gasps. “Rally Carandir, Dek. Go.”
Most of the barons charging forward were from the eastern houses. Dek saw that many of the western families remained in their boxes. Some seemed still too shocked from the explosion to move. Others appeared to only feign hurt. A few seemed too terrified to think. Four western houses, Gilyon, Refran, Luja and Womd, turned and took up arms against Dek. They were joined by Sinkarekans who charged in from the rear of the audience hall.
Mirjel ran down the steps of the dais. She passed Craya who now whimpered as he held his scarred hand. The glittering jewels of a ceremonial dagger sparkled on his belt. The memories of the dungeon, of Ryckair’s banishment, of Lek’s whipping, combined to drown out the combat around her. She wondered how long it would take to kill Craya.
The din of battle snapped her attention back to the present. Telasec lay unconscious on the floor next to the crystal sphere. Mirjel realized she could either save the Daro healer or kill Craya. She ran past the prince and knelt at Telasec’s side. “Mother Daro, can you hear me?”
Telasec opened her eyes but did not speak. Mirjel bent down and raised her from the floor. The two women half walked, half ran toward Baron Dek.
Reshna recovered from the flash and surveyed the room. The Sinkarekans were a frightened rabble as Dek and his handful of professional soldiers swept through them. He heard the clink of chain mail and knew Yetig’s men were just outside. Still, he and Craya might be overrun before reinforcements arrived. Reshna grabbed one of Craya’s wounded guards by the hair and slit his throat. He chanted a spell and cast powder into the air.
A wall of flame erupted between Reshna and Dek. It consumed the Sinkarekans standing in the way before burning itself out. A green, haze formed above the ash. It floated in place for a moment before expanding toward the attacking barons. Dek raised his hand for a halt. One of Etera’s guards laughed. “Come on lads. A little fog won’t stop us.”
Dek shouted. “No. Get back. Everyone, get out of the hall.”
The soldier ignored Dek’s warning and charged. When he reached the mist the captain gave a cry as his skin bubbled and dissolved away with a sickening stench. Within moments, nothing remained but his sword and armor in a crumpled heap on the floor.
The mist cut Mirjel off from her father. She had heard him describe the demon Malty had summoned. Until this moment she never truly believed it.
Dek maneuvered the barons, baronesses and their men away from the haze that continued to advance. A group broke into a rout as the formless demon gained on them. Those nearest it were overtaken and consumed.
Mirjel looked for another way out. Behind her, Orane stood shakily. She pointed to an empty box and ran to it while supporting Telasec. The chief Kyar followed. By the time they reached the low wall, Telasec was able to stand and move on her own. Mirjel dared a peek over the edge. The mist continued to advance toward her father. Sinkarekans, barons and courtiers ran madly about as Yetig’s troops charged into the hall in full battle gear. Mirjel slid back down. “What now? We can’t get out through the front or rear entrances.”
“The kitchen,” said Telasec.
“Yes,” said Orane. “We will gather whoever we can and make a dash from the kitchen to the bridge and hope we can cross in the confusion.”
The three of them skirted the walls of the hall to a servant’s entrance at the side. As they passed a fallen guard, Mirjel took his sword.
They ran for the south tower. Orane stopped at the doors to the book vaults. “This is as far as I go.”
Mirjel said, “They’ll be here in moments.”
“I must seal the books away. My life is insignificant compared to the knowledge the Barasha would destroy or the secrets they could discover. No arguing. There are places in Meth where you’ll be safe. Mistress Telasec knows them. Go now.” He made the sign of the covenant and rushed through the doors.
The two women started off, then Mirjel stopped. “Lek. She’s still in my chambers.”
“You can’t go back for her now, child.”
“You know what the Barasha will do to her if I escape.” Mirjel hefted the sword in her hand. “Take whoever you can to Meth. I will find you there somehow.” She ran down the hall, ignoring Telasec’s pleading cries for her to stop.
At the entrance to the north tower, Mirjel slowly pushed double doors open and peered inside. Two armed Sinkarekans stood at the foot of the grand staircase. She sprang on them. By the time the guards turned her sword had raked across the belly of one of them. He bellowed and slumped to the floor. The second Sinkarekan raised his blade.
The first guard’s body lay at the foot of the stairs. Mirjel maneuvered her opponent towards his fallen comrade. When they stood next to the dead guard, she cut quickly to the left. The Sinkarekan was thrown off balance as he tried to parry. He slipped on the blood of the dead one and fell.
Mirjel raised her sword to strike. It felt heavy. Her arm shook. She dropped the weapon and fought for breath. Her eyes watered as a rancid odor wafted through the air. It seemed as if a red gauze had descended over her eyes. Her arms and legs felt frozen. She looked up and saw Reshna.
He said, “She is yet needed.”
Dek led the barons out into the parade ground where the Carandir army waited to greet its new king. Though Yetig commanded these men, none knew of the Barasha and all were loyal to the Crown.
Etera stumbled. Dek knelt at his side. The older baron waved him away. “Leave me. Save yourself. Save Carandir.”
“Save your breath.” Dek picked Etera up and carried him.
Colonel Herrik, newly returned from the east for the ceremony, was puzzled to see men fleeing from the audience hall. Dek shouted for the army to retreat. The Colonel, thinking that they were signaling for help, ordered her men forward.
The mist emerged through the door just as Dek reached Herrik. It swept through the Carandir troops. Men and horses were inundated and consumed. In less than a tespan, most of the soldiers standing on the parade ground were dead. The losses stunned those left alive, making them easy prey for the demon.
&
nbsp; Dek shouted above the roar of dying men. “Sound retreat. It is sorcery we fight here. No force of arms can stand before it.”
Herrik took a horn that was strapped to her saddle and blew retreat. Those not caught by the mist turned and fled. Dek lumbered forward as he carried Etera toward the arched bridge. The disorderly rout from within jammed at the gate so that only a trickle escaped.
The various troops of the barons who were not permitted in the attendance hall or parade ground were encamped on the high plain adjacent to the palace. Each force awaited the return of their Lord from the coronation. Men streamed across the bridge. The commander of Etera’s troops grabbed a soldier by the arm. “What has happened?”
“Death comes.” Mad with fear, the man ran on.
The commander turned to his lieutenant. “Some deviltry is at hand. To the palace.”
Etera’s troops surged forward. Those of the other barons held back, uncertain of what to do. As Etera’s men charged they pushed the Carandir troops back into the parade ground. Dek tried to halt them to no avail. Other captains, fearing their own Lords were in danger, now pressed forward as well. As men rode into the parade ground they were caught in the cloud and destroyed.
At last, the blockage at the gate prevented any more men from entering. The mist emerged out over the bridge. Men and horses died, unable to move aside in the press. The demon halted at the edge of the plain.
Dek lowered Etera to the new spring grass. It seemed the entire Carandir army was destroyed, though he knew it was not so. Yet, the greater part of the force was no more and many of the troops brought by each baron had perished as well.
He leaned over Etera who opened his eyes slowly. “I was a fool, Dek. For twenty years the nation was in danger and only you saw. Haram was right. You are the Crown’s truest servant.”
“Come now, Etera. You’ll turn my head and spoil what little modesty I have.”
“No jests, my friend. I will be dead soon. Promise you will find Ryckair and drive the Barasha out.”
Dragons Unremembered Page 11