A boom resounded from the chasm, followed by a loud grinding noise. Two slender stone slabs rose up from the sides of the canyon walls. He realized it was a draw-bridge whose roadway folded down rather than up. There was no physical connection between the two halves and Ryckair wondered at the magic that had survived for millennia.
The Oola howled at the sight. Some scaled the side of the tower and tried to come around the stone walls. Those who attempted slipped on the smooth rock and fell into the abyss.
The two sections rose to meet in the center to form a completed bridge. “Quickly,” said Ryckair. “Cross before they start firing arrows.” The men ran for the other side just as the portcullis fell in under the weight of the Oola. Ryckair threw the head of their fallen king into the path of the charging creatures. A few paused, only to be trampled by the Oola behind.
Ryckair was certain he had never run so fast. The Oola followed with a guttural roar. The prince reached the other side with the Oola right behind.
“Twelve, fifty, twelve, fifty. Morning flower.” He spoke the words hoarsely as he searched for their meaning. Along the edge of the landing was a low wall. On it were stone reliefs in the image of nerres flowers with petals in full bloom. The prince’s mind flashed to his studies of botany. “Of course! Nerres was originally known as the morning flower.”
Batu said, “There must be fifty.”
Ryckair ran to the twelfth relief from the bridge. He pressed on the stone flower. Nothing happened. He pried his fingers between the stone and tried to pull. Again nothing and tried to remember the last verse. Walls. It was something about a wall. He tried to recall if it was on the wall or behind it. Safe behind them sounded familiar. It suddenly came to him and he chanted aloud.
Face east, search low,
Till you find the one you know,
Safe behind the city wall,
Twist the petals, watch them fall.
Ryckair took hold of the flower and turned it. A snap echoed across the valley. The two halves of the bridge fell down and away as they slid back to rest within the chasm walls. Screaming Oola dropped into the void. The men cheered as hundreds of the hairy creatures fell to their deaths. This last defeat broke the Oolas’ spirits. They dropped their torches and fled from the plain.
A flash of brilliance erupted in the east. They all stood in awe as they soaked in the first sunrise they had seen in years. Then, they fell to their knees and made the sign of the covenant.
The prince led his men into the deserted city. He sent scouts to look for shelter and anything that might be made into clothing.
Theb did not regain consciousness and developed a fever. Ryckair felt certain the arrow had been poisoned. He dabbed sweat on Theb’s brow with a strip of rag. “I’m going to find some water so I can at least cleanse the wound.”
Ryckair walked around the perimeter of the outer wall. It had once enclosed a grand city with wide avenues and fine buildings. Ryckair imagined the market places and fountains, the people bartering in the streets, the lively music of lutes and harps. The buildings were now largely rubble.
He walked west and climbed the wall. As he did, he heard an unfamiliar rumble and crash that was repeated rhythmically. When he reached the top, his mouth opened in a gape. Before him stretched the great western ocean, a sight Ryckair had read of, but had never seen. Waves rolled onto a wide, sandy beach. He stared, mesmerized by the force of the water pounding on the shore and then receding. He had seen the Great River his entire life. Still, the sight of so much water moving in and out left him dizzy, as if a wave might reach up and take him at any moment.
Set into the wall was a round tower. As he approached, he saw that steps led to a solid wall where a door should have been. There were no windows. It was difficult to tell exactly how high it was. It seemed to rise and fall as he moved. A chill ran down his spine as he realized that this was one of the wizard towers that once connected the far flung places of the realm. He walked up the steps and touched the stone of an artifact that had survived the Dragon Wars. There was a square tower near the far southern border of Carandir, though he had never visited it. All his knowledge came from the scrolls he had read in the Kyar’s vaults. He looked out over the city. “Too much from books alone. I need to know this world for myself.”
He left the tower and walked to the north wall. Just outside of the city was a river that flowed toward the sea. Acres of reeds and rushes grew on its banks. He scooped up some water in a skin and hurried back to Theb. The other men returned from their foraging to report several sheltered places to sleep but little else of use in the city.
“The shelter is good news,” said Ryckair. “How many men can weave baskets and make rope?” Most were sailors and knew the arts. “Good. There are more rushes than we can ever use along a river just outside the city. We will settle on one of these shelters, then weave ourselves clothes and boots. But first, let us go to the river and bathe the filth of the Sarte from our bodies.”
Theb was settled in the cellar of a building. The chimney of a hearth was cleared and a fire lit. It soon became comfortable. The men went to the river in groups and washed themselves, bringing armfuls of rushes back on their return. Many, including Ryckair, used their obsidian knives to shave their beards. Batu, who said he had worn a beard since his youth, simply trimmed his. “It is the tradition of my people.”
The men set about weaving the rushes into mats of different sizes. Loose grass was quilted between some mats. These were assembled in layers for jackets, pants and boots that offered surprising protection from the chill of the night. Sleeping mats and a door were also woven.
The cooks set out and returned with herbs, roots, mushrooms and berries. Snares were set and several rabbits caught. From these they made a fine dinner with desert. The cellar was warm and pleasant by the time they ate their meal. Ryckair posted sentries and laid down on his newly woven mattress.
Batu rubbed his hands in front of the fire and gave a satisfied sigh. “Ahh, that’s nice.”
“Yes. I shall sleep tonight. But, tomorrow we must plan.” Ryckair looked over to Theb. “I have to determine what poison the Oola used. I know some herb lore, but I am not a Daro.”
“I have some knowledge in this, Highness. More than a few have tried to slip something in my drink. There are ways to detect what poison is being used.”
“Excellent. But, even if we can find an antidote it might be weeks before he’s ready to travel.”
“We can make a litter and carry him.”
“It’s not just Theb,” said Ryckair. “We all need time to see the world above ground again. This is a new land, possibly with new enemies. You and I must drill the men until they act from instinct. I do not doubt their bravery. Yet, most are merchant sailors with no soldiering experience.”
At this, Batu chuckled. “I am no soldier myself, Highness. The fact is, I’ve spent as much time as possible avoiding them.”
Ryckair said, “That’s why you are eminently qualified to train them. After all, you’ve studied military tactics to avoid capture, trained others to infiltrate territory and even how to fight. There’s more soldier in you than you think, or perhaps would like to think.”
Batu laughed. “And when we have trained our band of men, where do we march to?”
Ryckair stared into the fire. “Carandir. We make war upon my brother.” Mirjel’s face came to him along with a deep sickness in his heart.
Batu scratched his beard. “We need ships to cross the Great River.”
“We might be able to build them. We have enough sailors.”
Batu sighed. “We certainly can’t by any.”
They gathered herbs and flowers. Ryckair prepared a white paste and spread the mixture over Theb’s wound. The paste turned dark purple.
“It is poison, Highness, and almost certainly comes from a mushroom. I’d say, by the color, it’s Spotted Death Mask. They grow in caves and tunnels.”
Ryckair said, “Thank Jorondel you learned thi
s art.”
“It may have done Theb little good. The poison is deadly. I know of no cure.”
“I read something in a book. It was, oh what was it?” Ryckair looked at the door. “Yes.” He left the cellar and returned shortly with a hand full of neres, some thistles and a mushroom.
The prince prepared the antidote in one of the metal eating cups. After three spans, the cup. contained a runny liquid.
Batu said, “How do we get him to drink it?”
“We don’t. It has to reach the poison in his blood directly.” Ryckair placed the cup on the fire. “We will boil the remaining liquid off and grind what remains with stones until it is a fine power.”
“How does it get into his blood? Do we make a cut and pour it in?”
“The flow of blood would just wash it out. We will make a pipe with one of the reeds and blow the powder up his nose. The antidote will be absorbed. It is a technique used by the Daro.”
The antidote took another span to boil off the moisture. Batu washed off a slab of stone and a rock. Ryckair slowly ground the dry substance into a powder. When he was done he placed it inside the tube of a reed, positioned it in Theb’s nostril and blew hard. Theb gave a shutter, then settled back against the sleeping mat.
Ryckair sat down on the floor “Now, we wait.”
Theb awoke several days later. He looked around the room where he lay on a reed mat. “Have the Sarte come. Is the ore ready?”
Ryckair helped him sit up. “There are no Sarte, my friend. We are free now.”
It was nearly a week before Theb was able to stand. Ryckair told him of the escape from the Oola and how they found the city. Theb seemed confused and asked several times what had happened. Slowly, his wits returned. He began working with Ryckair and Batu to create plans of attack and defense for every possible situation they imagined their men encountering. Though Ryckair had never gambled or drank with the young officers as Craya had, he had not ignored his military studies. From books assigned by Yetig and others found in the vaults of the Kyar he had read extensively of battles and strategy. As well, he had taken detailed notes from all of Yetig’s lectures.
He drew his officers and sergeants from what naval men there were among them. Batu called them together outside the basement that was their home. “We have escaped to walk once more above ground. Now, we must prepare for the dangers we will find here. Every day, we will drill and practice until the exercises become second nature. Then, together, we will march on Carandir and confront the evil we have sworn to defeat.”
Theb formed the men into squads and the drills began.
Mirjel secretly diverted many shipments of food away from the army granaries into storehouses around Meth. From there, it was distributed to the needy across Carandir.
She calculated how much grain had been in the last shipment as she was ferried across the Bay of Hasp to another meeting with Orane and Telasec. She was nearing the third month of her pregnancy and the movement of the boat left her nauseous.
When she reached the secret meeting room under Meth, Orane helped her to a chair. He said, “Highness, you have fed many who might otherwise have starved. We must now end the shipments of food. It is time to leave.”
“I fully intend to leave, as we have discussed. I just need a little more time. Soon, we will have enough food secreted away to last through the rest of the winter.”
Telasec said, “Highness, please. If we delay the Barasha will take the babe.”
“The Barasha shall not have my child, this I have sworn by Ilidel. Lek and I carry the poison at all times. To flee now will bring certain starvation to whole cities. None can take my place in court.”
The door flew open. Six armed Carandir soldiers walked into the room, followed by Narech Yetig.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Yetig bowed formally. “Good evening, your Highness.”
Mirjel forced herself into the outer composure she used in court. “Am I to be spied upon like a common servant, Narech Yetig?”
“I have neither the time nor the patience to banter with you, Highness. I have known of your secret meetings for over a week.” He took a rolled parchment from inside his doublet and laid it on the table. Mirjel recognized it as the order she had issued that morning. He said, “I know all of your secrets.”
She knocked the parchment to the floor. “Then kill us now and have done with it.”
The narech slowly removed his gloves. “That presupposes, madam, that I have come to kill you.” He sat in one of the wooden chairs and motioned for his men to close the door. “Princess Mirjel, I bring you the throne of Carandir.”
Mirjel laughed. “Tell your Barasha masters they will have to find their sport elsewhere.”
“I play no game.” He snapped his fingers. One of his men stepped forward and placed four silver goblets on the table. Another poured wine. Yetig said, “Join me if you will. A toast to formally seal our bargain.” He pushed a goblet across the table towards Orane.
The Chief Kyar sat impassively. “We make no bargains with sorcerers. We are Carandirians, sworn to defend the Crown.”
Yetig slammed his fist on the table. “As am I, blind fool.”
Orane stood up and slapped Yetig across the face. The soldiers reached for their swords. Yetig held them back, then fell to his knees and bowed his head, “I beg forgiveness, ancient one. I spoke in haste and intended no disrespect. I, too, am Carandirian, sworn, as are you, to defend the monarchy from all enemies, both without and within.”
He looked up. “Once we were a proud people who held sway throughout the world. For three generations Carandir has lost both territory and prestige after the traitorous concessions that brought about the new nobility.”
Mirjel placed her hand over her swollen belly. “Need I remind you, Narech Yetig, that I am new nobility, as is the child I carry. Rascalla has always owed allegiance to the Crown; not to traitors; not to the Barasha.”
Yetig stood. “I owe no allegiance to the Barasha. When the sorcerers first came to me with their plot I knew that, in time, they would grow too powerful for me to control, so I feigned none. Their path walked beside mine, to replace the government with one that will return the nation to greatness. They have fulfilled their purpose.
“Master Orane, your books have secrets to bring about the Barasha’s defeat. I know you and the other Kyar hide beneath the palace with them. Do not worry. The Barasha suspect nothing. Your rouse at the gate was most convincing. I would never have known if I had not been high up in the southern tower and seen your phantom wagons charge through a closed portcullis that my men saw as open.
“As for the grain diversions, Highness, I have been covering your blunders. Several clerks have been dispatched to the Dragons’ Halls because they discovered your plot.”
Mirjel wanted to scream and strike Yetig until her fists were bloody. He had made fools of them all. Worse, people had died because of her mistakes. Instead, she smoothed the material of her dress. “And when the Barasha are removed, what keeps you from removing us? Why offer me Carandir?”
“Craya is more inept than I imagined. On the other hand you, Princess Mirjel, have ruled in his stay as a queen of old. While you sit on the throne in majesty, I will use our armies to extract the tribute due a mighty nation. You shall have the ultimate power and I will be your servant. In two decades when your child is 20 the key will call. By that time, Carandir will have regained its position in the world.”
“And if I choose to execute my servant?”
“So be it. You will be set on the course that I have begun and I shall die with honor. However, I believe that you will find me more useful alive.”
She wondered if it was possible to defeat the Barasha from within. “Craya is still the legal ruler.”
“Many fatal accidents occur each day. Everyone knows he drinks too much. He could slip on a stair or balcony. It is a simple matter to arrange.”
“A simple matter?” She hated Craya and dreamed of his death. Yet,
to discuss it so coldly sickened her. “What of my father?”
Yetig hesitated for an instant. “That is a more delicate question. At the moment he is an outlaw, holding neither rank nor property. However, he will be the grandfather of the heir and, thus, accorded some special privileges. That will not, regrettably, include political power. This assumes he is not killed by the army that now hunts him.”
Her mind focused on the question whose answer she most feared. “And Ryckair?”
“Our last reports indicate he was been captured by the Sarte. None have ever escaped from their mines. The Barasha have had contact with the gill men in the past. Reshna asked them to look for a man with a dragon mark on his chest. The Sarte reported finding no such prisoner in their mines. Prince Ryckair is certainly dead.”
Mirjel held her emotions tightly within. “I wish to confer with my counsel.”
“As you desire, madam. My men and I will wait outside.” Yetig rose and led the soldiers out into the hallway.
Orane said, “Yetig has betrayed the Crown once. We cannot trust him.”
Telasec said, “We must think of Mirjel and the child she carries. Yetig may offer us time to defeat the sorcerers.”
They debated both sides as Daro and Kyar often did in their search for a common answer.
Mirjel looked to the floor and spoke in a whisper. “What if Ryckair returns?”
Telasec put her arms around Mirjel. “We both know how you love him, child. We also know it hurts you deeper than bone to have him gone like this. You’ve shown more than courage with your grief. But, you must think of yourself now and of the child you carry who even now may be the heir. That rogue, Yetig, is right about one thing. You have run the affairs of a nation plagued with drought and famine and sorcerers. It is as much as any monarch can claim, back to Avar himself, as Ilidel is my witness.”
Mirjel sat for a long time and stared into the light of the oil lamp. She made the sign of the covenant. “We will accept Yetig’s offer. All we gain is the hope of time. I cannot see what will come, for even the next sunrise is unknown. We must do as best we can for Carandir, whether Ryckair returns or not.”
Dragons Unremembered Page 17