Responsibility of the Crown

by G Scott Huggins

  “What’s that?” yelled a sailor.

  Along with everyone else, Azriyqam looked back toward the dwindling submarine. From its bow, a thin line of water shot straight for the stern of the Century Ship.

  “Hold on to something!” called Elazar.

  Almost lazily, the thin wake reached out and vanished under Ekkaia’s stern.

  The Century Ship shuddered. Azriyqam felt the stern lift under the pressure of the enormous explosion, and when it came back down, the bow of the Ship was pointed, ever so slightly, at the sky.

  Azriyqam could feel the enormous ship slow as water rushed in at the stern, dragging at the winddrivers that pushed it hopelessly forward.

  “Man the pumps!” Elam screamed. “Close all the water-doors! Seal off the breach!” Men ran frantically to stations they had never had to man before, because the unthinkable had happened. The Century Ship’s tough, dugout hull had been pierced. Blown apart, easily, by the Consortium’s warship.

  Captain Elam shouted for fire hoses to be brought.

  Azriyqam allowed Elazar to lead her up the aftercastle, up multiple flights of stairs, away from the deck. From the castle’s huge roof, Azriyqam could see that the men on the submarine’s deck resolved into distinguishable figures. Soon, she could see their faces, looking up at the Century Ship’s shattered stern. They aimed their fire weapon. A deceptively slow fountain of liquid fire arced onto the Century Ship. Men ran from the blaze as it spread and stuck.

  Elam’s firehoses responded, but the Consortium’s sorcerous fire—Azriyqam knew it wasn’t, but she could think of it in no other way—simply slid over the top of the water and kept burning.

  It won’t be long, now. How high could she go to escape the flames? All the way to the top of the mainmast, or, if she escaped, all the way to the top of the Kreyntorm. Before the Consortium burned that, too. When she fought Haraad, she thought she might escape the dream of fire. Last night she had not dreamed it at all, but it was coming for her, all the same.

  Elazar yelled, “We have to get to Zhad!”

  She knew he was right, but the Consortium’s flying boat was coming back for another pass. She drew breath to shout a warning to Elam and Zhad who were directing the fire crews, knowing they were too far away to hear, but she had to do something—

  And the flying boat vanished in a globe of blue-white flame.

  For an instant, it burned, and then its fuel exploded, raining dark chunks of metal and wood.

  Then more shapes burst through the overcast all around them.

  The sky was full of dragons.

  Dark green and dull bronze wings flashed overhead, covering the deck in flitting shadows. The colors came too fast and thick to see: blue-purple, silver, crimson, and sun-yellow. They descended from the clouds amid cries of terror and wonder from the complement of the Century Ship.

  A silver-blue dragon appeared last of all, staggering slightly in the air. “Senaatha!” The name was torn from Azriyqam as the old dragon, her right wing slightly thinner than her left, backed wing and landed on the forecastle of the Century Ship.

  “Look!” yelled Elazar.

  Azriyqam wrenched her head around.

  Behind the Ship, a great, blood red dragon banked low over the surface of the water. Like an angel of death, it hovered for an instant before landing on the foredeck of the Consortium submarine. The gun crews scattered, diving into the ocean. Throne Elyoan’s great talons closed around the barrels of the Aulicus’s deck guns. They burst in a spurt of liquid flame that the dragon ignored.

  On her neck, holding aloft a great sword, rode her father. With a gesture, he shouted something that Azriyqam was too far away to hear. A second dragon landed on the submarine’s afterdeck, which was already awash in seawater, and Azriyqam realized that the submarine was diving as fast as it could.

  As the water washed about the submarine’s central tower, Throne Elyoan arched her neck over a collection of tubes that sprouted out of it. Fastening her massive jaws about them, she exhaled a torrent of orange-white flame. For a moment, nothing happened.

  Azriyqam had just a moment to imagine what must be happening in the interior of the steel-hulled vessel as dragonfire poured through the webwork of corridors.

  Suddenly, the rear of the submarine heaved with an explosion, and dirty smoke streaming with red burst from both ends of the broken hull. It rolled over and then it was gone. Both dragons labored skyward.

  The Throne loomed over the greatcastle, hovering for three mighty beats of her wings before settling onto its roof. She lowered her head and fixed Azriyqam with one great eye. Then her father was sliding off the great dragon’s neck, throwing aside his sword, and catching her in his arms.

  “Azriyqam,” he whispered. “You’re alive. Still alive, oh thank all the dead gods.” He held her back from him so he could look at her. “Where is your brother in all this?”

  A jolt of fear shot through Azriyqam. “Very badly hurt, sir.”

  “Take me to him!” Azriyqam sprinted down the stairs, leading her father at a dead run the length of the Ship. It seemed to take forever to thread the maze under the forecastle. When they burst into the room, Merav and Avnai were both lying as still as wax statues and with the same pallor on their flesh. Without a word, Da’vid scooped up his son and Azriyqam did the same with Merav. As fast as they could climb, they bore the two unconscious figures to where Senaatha was perched before the forecastle. There was plenty of room. None of the Ship’s Complement dared to approach.

  Da’vid laid his son before Senaatha’s head.

  “Bad,” she said. “And astonishing he still lives.”

  Da’vid’s head snapped up. “Dammit, Senaatha, leave your cryptic maundering for another time!”

  Senaatha nodded and, to Azriyqam’s amazement, managed to sound contrite. “Apologies, Your Majesty. Your son will be well.” Her eyes rolled up in the back of her head and she spoke a rapid succession of syllables, exhaling a cloud of what looked like, but was clearly not, attenuated dragonfire.

  Avnai’s eyes snapped open and his chest expanded in a gasp. Sweat stood out on his forehead. “Feel…better,” he said in a tone of childlike wonder. Then his eyes fluttered shut as he returned to sleep, and it was clearly sleep, not the fitful tossing of coma.

  Senaatha turned her attention to Merav. Her eyes drew down.

  “She has spent her resources and exhausted herself badly,” she murmured. She followed this up with another few words, and Merav’s face relaxed. The bitter look that had etched itself there faded, and Azriyqam was struck again by just how young the girl was.

  “She saved Avnai, Father,” said Azriyqam. “None of the rest of us could have.”

  He nodded. “She will have every honor I can bestow.” The Crown looked at her. “If Senaatha has told half the tale, all of you have done more than I would have dreamed possible. The kingdom owes all of you a great debt.”

  “How did you find us, sir?” Azriyqam asked.

  “Mostly, that was up to Senaatha, of course,” said the Crown, looking up at the silver-blue dragon with wonder and affection. “As soon as she could think of flying, she was off that island and moving toward us. She only reached us three days ago and she was almost as exhausted as Merav, here. At that, we would never have found you if you hadn’t turned toward home and if you hadn’t lighted the signal fires last night.”

  “You saw our signal fires?”

  “One of our scouts spotted them. We had no idea where you were, and it’s a big ocean. It took him all night to find us and report.”

  At that moment, Azriyqam felt eyes upon her. Elazar, his wing still bandaged, waited at a respectful distance. Behind him, at a distance that was somewhat more than respectful, stood High Captain Elam at the head of several of his captains. Tselah stood at Elazar’s left.

  “Tselah,” said Azriyqam. “Is the Ship all right?”

  “For now, but we need to make port soon.”

  Elazar nodded. “Your Majesty, I cann
ot tell you how glad I am to see you.”

  “And I, you.” The Crown smiled, grimly. “Ye gods, old friend, didn’t I ask you to keep my daughter out of trouble?”

  Elazar bowed. “Yes, Your Majesty, and I will be pleased to discuss my shortcomings in that regard at your convenience. But for now, I’m afraid I have business to discuss, regarding the disposition of Your Majesty’s Century Ship, Ekkaia.”

  It was remarkable the way her father’s jaw worked up and down without making a sound. “What?”

  “It is rather a long story, Your Majesty,” Elazar said, serenely. “I recommend that we find a more suitable place for it.”

  The Crown nodded and allowed himself to be led aft.

  * * * * *

  Epilogue

  The golden dragon Haltarym roared, and sent a billowing flame up into the night, with his rider, Jediah, sitting in triumph on his neck. Azriyqam rose to her feet along with her brother and Threlya, tapping Zhad lightly on the shoulder. Along with the rest of the audience, they applauded with throats, hands, and wings.

  The actors bowed and left the great stage of the Bowl Theater. Beyond the lit proscenium arch, the aurora centralis shed its gentle, silver light on the dark bay before the Kreyntorm. Just inside the harbor, the great bulk of the Century Ship Ekkaia’s lights glowed in the night.

  Even settled on the bottom of the harbor, it towered over the kingdom’s ships. The pumps had barely managed to keep the huge ship afloat during the remainder of the voyage home.

  “Well, how did you like the play?” asked Avnai, as servants began to flow into the royal box, laden with wine and refreshments suitable for the intermission. Zhad was already helping himself.

  “It’s wonderful,” said Azriyqam.

  “The Dragonrider is one of Stakhinir’s finest plays and a fairly accurate depiction of what happened right after the First Fleet’s mutiny on these islands.”

  “Has father decided what to do with Ekkaia yet?”

  “Well, the land grants are slowly being sorted out,” said Avnai, rising and passing Threlya a glass of white wine. “The problem is that it’s too big to use as anything but what it is. Unless we want to refit it substantially. Apparently, the naval architects are after Father about just that. But for now, it can serve as a lightship.”

  Azriyqam bit into a canape of bacon, smoked salmon, and a soft cheese that made her moan a little with pleasure. It was very good to be home.

  “Shall we stretch our legs?” Avnai asked. The servants filed out, the last one setting out an intricate arrangement of pastries.

  “That would be nice,” Threlya said, stretching, which she could, now. Although her exoskeleton would likely be a source of pain to her for the rest of her life, it was again fully powered, thanks to the converter Azriyqam had stolen and the lightning channelers aboard Ekkaia.

  Azriyqam bit her lip, again wondering if they should have invited Merav to see the show with them, but Merav’s wounds, for all that they weren’t physical, would take some time to heal.

  Threlya continued. “I’d love a walk.”

  “After all I’ve done to make this party comfortable, I’d appreciate the courtesy of a short chat,” said the last servant, turning toward them. He was an unremarkable, middle-aged man in a dark formal jacket who looked the part of the professional butler, except for the commanding presence he suddenly radiated.

  Avnai looked up sharply. “See here, man, that’s hardly something you say to the Crown—” he stopped abruptly, his hand sliding beneath his jacket. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Easy, Your Highness. Perhaps if I removed this camouflage.” Carefully, he shrugged off his jacket to reveal another beneath it, dark blue and laden with gold braid. Thick gold bands encircled its cuffs. Azriyqam had never seen such a thing.

  Avnai swallowed. “That can’t be real.”

  “I wouldn’t be as effective if you recognized me. Please feel free to check my credentials tomorrow with the ambassador, but you will know my name. Nakaris.”

  Avnai nodded warily. “Chief of Naval Intelligence.”

  “Indeed. I do offer my apologies for interrupting you in this fashion, but I thought it might take an inordinate amount of time to receive permission to see you officially and even more time to persuade you to come to the embassy to see me.”

  That was certainly true, Azriyqam thought in a daze. She certainly had no desire to set foot on Consortium soil ever again.

  “Sir,” said Avnai, with deceptive lightness, “I had no idea you were here.”

  “And what kind of nefarious spymaster would I be if you did, Highness?” asked the admiral, bowing from the neck. “In fact, I’ve been serving as the military attaché here for the last few months. Don’t let on, please. My successor will arrive soon. I have a number of things to do at home, largely thanks to you.”

  “Me?” Avnai’s hand was still beneath his jacket.

  “All of you. Come, Highness, this isn’t an assassination. You all managed, with very few clues, to deduce the threat to your Kingdom and to take swift action to thwart it. I find it most impressive.”

  “Then why are you telling us?” asked Azriyqam.

  Nakaris turned to her and gave the same little bow. “Your brother at least, has deduced the plot you thwarted had its origins in Consortium politics.”

  “You were listening to us?”

  Nakaris gave her a thin-lipped smile. “You’re not the only ones who can deduce things without hearing them. He had to have figured it out in order to take the actions he did. Of course, the Lords of the Consortium cannot admit what actually occurred, but they hope Captain Eute’s court-martial for exceeding his authority, and your brother’s promotion will mollify the Crown and Throne. There will be no charges filed for the lieutenant commander’s disobedience of what were plainly illegal orders. Nor will the Consortium protest—or even acknowledge—the damage to the Talion or the loss of the Aulicus.”

  “It won’t mollify them much,” said Avnai, coldly. “Still less me.”

  “Perfectly understandable,” said Nakaris, sipping from a wineglass he appropriated. “A pity. The fact that Eute was able to get his planes back in the air at all speaks to a certain determined competence we shall be sad to lose. Although we certainly won’t miss his political—” he shuddered, “—skills.”

  “You didn’t answer my sister’s question. I’d like to know the answer, too.”

  “You know that certain Lords of the Consortium, and not a few general officers, would like to destroy your kingdom: conquer it outright and reduce it to abject submission. There are those of us who consider that shortsighted, who realize that the Consortium needs all its people, even the ones who cling fiercely to independence and their own ways. Perhaps especially them, because the Disc is vast, and someday we may encounter a power stronger than ourselves. When and if that day comes, we may need those skills badly, and will regret their suppression.”

  Avnai snorted. “So, you’re going to persuade Pax Security to ease off and change the Consortium’s policy?”

  “You’re smarter than that, Your Highness. Pax General Berian is merely embarrassed. They will try to subjugate your kingdom again, and try harder, but that only makes it more vital that those of us who recognize their folly should be friends, or unofficial—very unofficial—allies. I need you and you need me. After all, if I can get this close to you, there may be others who can. I will know more about them and their movements than you will.”

  Azriyqam’s blood ran cold. He had, indeed, infiltrated their servants and waltzed right past the guards as if they had never existed. It seemed to affect Avnai, too.

  “Just what did you have in mind? Sir?”

  “In a few days, you’re going to be transferred to my command, Prince. Oh, you’ll have a regular line posting and another commanding officer, but he will know your primary role is to be an agent of Naval Intelligence.” He looked them over. “In fact, I have commissions for all of you, though only the crown pri
nce will be uniformed and acknowledged officially as a Consortium officer.”

  “I’d rather die,” said Threlya. Her voice was full of loathing. Avnai reached over and gripped her hand tightly.

  “Well, I can hardly force it, but I trust that you won’t interfere, because of your friends.”

  “And because you will cease to hunt her,” said Avnai. “The Consortium will relinquish its claim on Threlya.”

  Nakaris gave him an appraising look. “Naval Intelligence will buy her contract and it will find its way into your possession. The records will be lost.” He nodded to Threlya. “You will work with me. In return, I will do what I can to discourage the subjugation of your kingdom. Are we agreed?”

  “You realize, I hope,” said Avnai, “that our first loyalty is always to our Crown and Throne and their people?”

  “That has always been part of your oath,” said Nakaris. “I would expect nothing else from any of you.”

  “Subject to a discussion with the Crown, I agree,” said Avnai.

  “So long as it goes no lower than the ears of the Crown and Throne, yes.”

  “What the hell, I’m in,” said Zhad.

  “Princess?” asked Admiral Nakaris.

  Azriyqam’s breath caught in her throat. Once she would have done anything Avnai suggested. Now she had doubts of her own. “How can we ever trust you? You don’t care for the kingdom, much less for us.”

  He nodded to her. “That much is true. Partly. The Consortium is vast, probably vaster than you realize. I cannot care deeply about every ally we have across the Endless Ocean. But trust this: I’m putting myself in some considerable danger. I have power in the Consortium, but I am not invincible. As I said, most of the Lords of the Consortium would be…quite displeased to learn of this meeting, but that is because they would have liked to see General Berian and Captain Eute succeed. In the event I should betray you, you have only to take the recordings that Threlya is doubtless making even now—” he gave her a sardonic tilt of his head, “—to the embassy. They will not reward you, but they will certainly make life difficult if not impossible, for me.”