Responsibility of the Crown

by G Scott Huggins

  That night, the dreams began.

  * * * * *

  Part II: Responsibility Descending

  Four Months Later

  Chapter 6

  The Century Ship burned.

  From her mainmast cell, Responsibility heard the screams and the roar of the flames. Flames engulfed square miles of sailcloth and rope. She scrabbled at the trapdoor, but it was bolted shut.

  Outside, her mother burned the ship, searching for her.

  Responsibility peered out the tiny windows, but smoke filled her eyes. She tried to cry out, to shout to the dragon she was here, was burning. But what good would it do to shout that name? Her mother knew it not. Her mother had called her…

  Responsibility hid under her wings from the flames, vainly trying to remember the name that would save her.

  * * *

  She woke, gulping down great draughts of clear night air.

  Azriyqam. She clung to the name more fiercely than she would have clung to a boat out in the Great Ocean. My name is Azriyqam.

  Sleep forgotten, her breath slowing, she rolled out of bed and strode to her balcony.

  She thought about visiting her brother’s rooms, but Avnai would be asleep. She could go down and wake Zhad. But no, tonight she did not want to wallow in memories. She wanted to escape them. She stepped onto the low ledge of the railing and spread her wings.

  She knifed through the air like a diving bird, and the pain shooting along her flight muscles was sweet agony. Pulling up, she swept low over the outer wall. The guards nodded but didn’t challenge her. She was as free as any other halfdragon in the kingdom.

  The square beyond the Spinward Gate rushed up at her and she braked. The humans in the square paused, watching her alight on the flat stones. There was a knot of merchants from the Far Isles wrapped in bright, winding garments. Several couples strolled, clasping hands, dressed sparsely but well for the warm evening, a bespectacled old woman in a cloak, and two children gaping in frank envy. But no one curled a lip at her or asked what she was doing out of her nest, much less threatened to beat her. It was glorious.

  She ran into the maze of wonders that was Stormness. From lamplit doorways wafted scents of sizzling food and perfumes, snatches of song, the murmur of conversation.

  A roar of applause sounded before her as Azriyqam broke out of the street onto a narrow plaza. To lightward was the edge of a terrace with guards manning an arch. She realized she was at the upper edge of the Bowl Theater, where Avnai had taken her twice. The applause continued; the show was ending.

  Now that she knew where she was, she looked around.

  “Jerah!” she called, seeing her favorite fruit vendor’s stall.

  “Princess Azriyqam,” shouted the big man. “Come quick before the crowd hits!”

  Azriyqam ran to him. “Thank you, Jerah. One of the peaches, please.”

  He handed her an enormous one. Azriyqam needed both fingers and both thumbs to grasp the great peach.

  “Your Highness is always welcome,” Jerah said with a grin. “But I can’t help thinking the Kreyntorm must provide fruits far better than mine.”

  Azriyqam laughed. She had liked the old man ever since she had met him the first time Avnai had brought her here. “Where would the fun in that be? Next time, I’ll come after seeing the play.” She stepped aside, folding her long wing-bones tightly about herself. Biting into the peach, she let the sparking sweetness run into her mouth.

  “By the way,” asked Jerah, “who’s your shadow? Guard of some kind?”

  “Guard? It’s just me. Surely I don’t really need a guard.” She followed his gaze over the heads of the crowd and saw the bespectacled old woman from the square. The figure straightened, gripping its cloak with brass-ringed fingers. Its hood fell off, and torchlight shone off long, white hair, smoky lenses, and a pale, scared face. It ran.

  “Who—?” started Azriyqam. She had never seen that…person before. Gripping her peach, she elbowed her way through the crowd. By the time she won free of it, the cloaked shape was a speck of darkness speeding into the night, far beyond Azriyqam’s ability to run.

  To run.

  She launched herself into space at the edge of the theater and curved right. She gathered speed, scanning the sloping streets beside her. Far off, she could just see the white-haired shape. It was slowing. Whatever it was, it thought it had evaded pursuit. Then, as though suddenly remembering it had been watching a halfdragon, it looked up to see Azriyqam sliding through the air. It turned and ran, dashing up a flight of stairs to the next terrace. Cursing, Azriyqam banked hard, felt a muscle stretch as she snapped around.

  The face of the terrace swelled in her vision. She braked, shooting herself upward.

  She was going to stall. More by luck than skill, she hit the top of the stairs and her quarry. Reflexively, she clutched her target. It shrieked and rolled to its feet, shedding its cloak. It turned to face her and Azriyqam stopped breathing.

  The girl was even younger than herself, dressed in a thin brown tunic. Her arms and legs were thin, emaciated. Over them, she wore brass…armor? No, it was like a second set of bones with metal joints. They joined behind the girl’s back. Each joint whirred with energy as the girl slowly backed away, staring out of the dark, brass-rimmed spectacles.

  Only they weren’t spectacles. They were implants, replacing the girl’s eyes. “What are you?” Azriyqam whispered.

  For a moment, the girl’s mouth opened. Then she fled. Azriyqam scrambled up, but the girl’s joints whined and her limbs blurred. She vanished up the stairs to the next terrace.

  Azriyqam picked herself up, stretching her burning wings, making sure nothing was broken. Unsteadily, she walked home.

  * * *

  Morning came far too early. Azriyqam sat at breakfast, wishing she could rest her elbows on the table. Her wings got in the way.

  “Late night, Azriy?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “Doing what?”

  “I flew down to the theater.” She didn’t want to mention her strange follower. She reached for a roll, then hissed in pain.

  “Without guards?” The Crown’s voice was sharp. “I’ve warned you about that, Azriyqam. What have you done to yourself?”

  “I-I just flew…” she stammered.

  “Da’vid.” Dragon Consort Khiirya leaned over, fixing Azriyqam with eyes as red as Azriyqam’s were purple. “I think we’ve been lax regarding Azriyqam’s education. She has never had the instruction, or even the example, any other young halfdragon takes for granted. She needs to stretch her wings, not overstretch them, as she is clearly doing. She needs a flight instructor, and now.”

  “Who?”

  Khiirya studied her. “Elazar?”

  The Crown gripped his Consort’s hand and looked at Azriyqam. “Elazar, then. Will you listen to him, daughter?”

  “Yes,” said Azriyqam softly. She met Khiirya’s eyes. “Thank you, Lady.”

  After the meal, Avnai caught up to her. “I must apologize for Father,” he said. “He’s not trying to be harsh. He’s still frightened.”

  “He’s frightened?” Azriyqam protested.

  “Yes. He thought you were lost, twenty years ago. Now he has you back, and he doesn’t know whether you’ll fly off again or get yourself killed. Part of him wants to lock you up until he’s sure.”

  Azriyqam froze at the thought.

  “But he knows he can’t do that, so he issues commands. He’s the Crown; that usually works. He’s trying…to make up for the time he lost and how he failed you.”

  “Failed me?” How?

  “By leaving you on that ship. For twenty years.”

  “Oh.”

  * * *

  The aroma of rich food woke her the next morning.

  Who had brought food?

  She sat up and the figure on her ledge rose to his feet. “I thought I might have to wake you. You can’t afford to miss another meal. Eat.”

  The enormous platter beside h
er bed bore a huge fish almandine on a bed of spinach. Dates stuffed with dark, strange-smelling meat accompanied it, with sliced avocado.

  But it was the stranger she stared at. Taller even than she, his scales were of bronze. He wore practically nothing but a sort of harness that effected basic modesty, filled with strange tools. “Who are you?”

  “I am Elazar. I am pleased to meet you, Princess, but not pleased to have to repeat myself. Eat.”

  “Won’t you join me?”

  “I have eaten.”

  “But this is far too much for me!”

  “It is not.” The older halfdragon approached, and she yelped as he gripped her wingtip in two fingers and raised it. “Much pain?” he asked.

  “Some.” She winced.

  “I shouldn’t wonder if you have a badly-healed hairline fracture here. What did you hit with it?”

  “Haraad’s throat,” she muttered.

  “A man’s throat? You’re lucky you can fly at all. These are for flying, lady,” Elazar said, raising his own wingtip. “Nothing else. You’ve been raised by humans and fed by humans, but you can’t be a halfdragon and live like humans. Eat.”

  Azriyqam ate, and her tutor held forth.

  “To fly, halfdragons must not only eat more than humans, they must eat differently. Properly raised halfdragons learn to eat like humans in public and feed themselves in private. Your father has doubtless forgotten that this was not part of your upbringing. For example, our wing spars are not just hollow, but reinforced with magnesium. Your meal is rich in this metal.”

  “Metal?” Azriyqam sniffed one of the meat-stuffed dates. The flesh was rich to the point of bitterness, contrasting the sweetness of the date.

  Elazar snorted. “Metal is part of everyone’s diet. Even humans need iron; you need more. Hence the liver. Never tasted the metal in blood? You will before I’m done with you. Fighting with your wingtips, indeed; gods help us.”

  “I was escaping prison; what should I have fought with?” Azriyqam snapped.

  “To be sure. Your brother told me. It showed courage. A desperate courage, which I will teach you to avoid the need for. Ideally, when halfdragons fight, we fight with these.” He drew a blade from his harness and handed it to her.

  The hilt was light and strangely twisted, but like her utensils, it wrapped around Azriyqam’s thumb and forefinger like a glove. The blade was thinner than her finger. It went effortlessly where she pointed it. Then he handed her its twin. “Airswords. I will teach you to fly and fight. Now, come.”

  After she finished eating, he led her to a low tower with a wide, flat roof.

  “Fortunately, we have a wind to work with. Face into it.”

  She did so.

  “Now, spread your wings.”

  “What do I do with these?” she held out the airswords.

  “Hold them. Someday you may need to fly with them, so you might as well learn now.” Azriyqam gripped the swords and faced the wind. “Your wing is curved,” said Elazar. “The faster the wind flows over it, the more it will lift you.” He spread his wings into the wind and rose from the ground. It pushed him back. He settled back to his feet. “Now, you.”

  Azriyqam did the same. The wind picked her up, far faster than she’d thought. She beat the air, trying to resist the push backward, and landed hard.

  “Don’t resist,” said Elazar. “Flow with the wind. Now, turn and try it with a tailwind. This will rob you of your lift, but you will find that your wingtips will give you lift in a tailwind and forward thrust in a headwind. They can beat faster than your shoulders. The shoulder gives you your power stroke, slow and heavy. The wingtip is the control stroke, fast and light.”

  Azriyqam tried it. It was hard to get airborne at all, but when she did, she shot forward. Her wings already ached. “No matter which way I’m going I feel like I’m always about to fall.”

  “And so you are. It’s called the Wind’s Curse. If it’s lifting you, it’s throwing you back. If it’s pushing you, it lets you fall. The wind is a cruel, idiot god to those of us with dragon blood.” He stepped before her. “No, don’t stare at me, girl; pay attention. You may have to go from flying to fighting at a moment’s notice. You must shift your attention as the situation demands. Eyes front. You don’t watch your swords; you watch your opponent: that’s me. Now, the swords. You have two of them. Both light and of equal length. Cut me. Don’t stare, cut!”

  Azriyqam lunged, hesitantly. Elazar didn’t move. “A cut is not a stab. You stab with the point, you cut with the blade, and next time you cut, at least try to make me think you might hit me. You won’t hurt me, I promise. Now cut!”

  She slashed with her right-hand blade. Elazar’s left airsword caught it and twisted it, twirling it around and pushing hers back to the right. His left-hand blade came straight at her, stopping an inch before her breast.

  “What was your left hand doing? If it was nothing, it was a wasted moment. I have two swords as well. And you are watching me. Not my sword or yours, but all of me. The swords are nothing; the enemy is everything. We continue.”

  * * *

  At dusk on the fifth day of her training, Elazar said, “When we can return here through that balcony, starting from the Spinward Court, I’ll have nothing left to teach you of flying.”

  Azriyqam shook her head. For hours each day he had exercised, not just her wings, but every part of her. As tired as she was, her wings no longer hurt, as they had after the first day. Instead, they vibrated with life.

  “You’re ready to fly again, aren’t you?” he asked. She nodded. “Just so. If I hadn’t intended that, I’d have had a heavier dinner prepared. But you’ll wear appropriate gear; it’s waiting.” He pointed at her bed.

  A harness lay there, and Elazar excused himself while she changed. It was tough, but light, covering only her breasts and hips with soft leather. There were points along it for hanging tools, but only bronze knobs hung from them.

  “What are these?” she asked, joining him on the balcony.

  “Weights. A halfdragon should be able to fly while carrying things, and you might as well get used to it. We’ll fly as level as we can to the bay and back. Ideally, we’ll land right back here before the sun sets fully.”

  He ran and leaped off the balcony. Azriyqam followed. Despite her best effort, she ended up thirty feet below her mentor. He dropped to meet her and slid left; she followed.

  Stormness unrolled below them. Azriyqam could see the Bowl Theater to her right, but Elazar angled toward the heights of the Dragon City.

  “The hexagonal tower is the Throne’s Residence,” Elazar called. “The open square to darkward is the Great Forum.” Azriyqam looked down, and caught her breath.

  Just to the left of the Forum there was a small tower with a flat roof occupied by a lone human figure facing the sea, the colors of dusk shining like fire along its brass frame.

  Azriyqam dived. Behind her, she heard Elazar shouting, but she had to get a closer look. She braked against the speed of her dive. The pale figure stood motionless, as if in a trance, lenses pointing skyward, arms outstretched. It was the girl who had followed her. She was alone.

  Folding her wings, Azriyqam landed.

  This close, she could see the girl’s limbs twitching with tension—no, with pain. Yet she did not move, despite Azriyqam’s arrival right in front of her. She stood as if chained to the spot.

  “Who’s there?” The words came as if ripped from her.

  Azriyqam approached, slowly. This close, she could see the brass skeleton was a part of the girl. The long bones of brass sprouted from her spine and neck and ran down her limbs, piercing her flesh at the joints until they terminated in rings around every finger and toe. A thin cable connected the back of her head to a hole in the roof at her feet.

  “It’s me,” said Azriyqam quickly. Elazar would surely come after her, and would doubtless be displeased, but she had to speak to this girl. “Why were you following me?”

  The girl’s
breath came faster, but she still did not move. “Are you here to kill me?”

  “Kill you?”

  The girl swallowed. “You have found me. Promise to kill me and I’ll tell you everything.”

  Azriyqam gaped. “I just want to know who you are. Look at me, at least.”

  “I cannot see you. I cannot move. They have turned off my limbs and my eyes. It’s my punishment, to stand here without food or water or rest or sight.” Her words were a dull rasp.

  Azriyqam’s skin crawled. Even her prison had not been bad as this. “For how long?”

  “Who knows?” the girl cried in a voice bereft of hope.

  She looked at the bewildering skeleton of brass that connected the girl’s limbs to her spine. “How do I free you?”

  “Free me?”

  “I wouldn’t leave an animal caged like this. How do you…work?”

  “You can’t free me,” said the girl. “Can’t you see? The frame is part of me; I can never be free of it. They’re using my eyes to watch you, even now, I promise. If you want to help, kill me and end this!”

  As if to punctuate her words, shouts came from below. Azriyqam ran to the edge of the roof. At the bottom of stone stairs that ran up the tower’s face, two guards stared up at her.

  Reflexively, Azriyqam ripped two of the weights from her harness and drop them fifty feet onto the guards’ heads. Both men staggered and fell heavily. She rushed back to the girl. If they were using her eyes…

  Azriyqam pulled the cable from the girl’s head.

  She gasped. “I can see!”

  “Now what?”

  “There’s some kind of control. On my back. I’ve never seen it.”