Deathcaster

by Cinda Williams Chima

  “No!” Lyss shouted. “Slayer, no! Those are my soldiers. Everybody—just stand down a minute!”

  The soldiers scrambling up the mountain quit scrambling and stood in place.

  Slayer looked shamefaced. And confused.

  Lyssa has bloodsworn, too?

  “Not exactly. I’m hoping that what I have now is a free army.” She turned to speak to the soldiers once more. “Everything is all right,” she said. “These are my friends. They surprised me, is all.”

  “Dreki?” One of the officers pointed at the dragons, as if Lyss hadn’t noticed who she was embracing. Both the dragons and the bloodsworn were questioning Lyss’s choice of companions.

  “Yes,” Lyss said. “But I know them. I trust them.” With that, Sasha peeked out from behind Slayer’s body. “Lyss?”

  For a long moment, Lyss stood staring, dumbfounded. “Sasha?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Sasha said, reverting to long habit.

  Lyss looked from Slayer to Sasha. “What the—how did— Are you with Slayer? Were you—actually—riding on a dragon?”

  “I actually was, ma’am,” she said. “I mean, Your Majesty.” She fell to one knee, presenting her sword. “Captain Sasha Talbot, reporting for duty.”

  “Talbot,” Lyss said. “It is so damned good to see you. Put that sword away so that I can give you a proper welcome.”

  Sasha sheathed her sword and they embraced.

  Slayer was hanging back but practically dancing with impatience, thrusting his nose in close. Eventually, Sasha noticed.

  “Your Majesty, Slayer has something for you. It’s from all the dragons—and Jenna. They all helped. They planned to give it to you back in Celesgarde, but you left before they could.” Sasha ran up the dragon’s side and unbuckled the leather pannier he was carrying. Moments later, she was back on the ground, with a package wrapped in more leather. She thrust it into Lyss’s hands.

  Lyss carefully unwrapped it. The contents glittered between her hands like a handful of stars.

  “Try it on,” Sasha said. “It’s dragon-scale armor.”

  Lyss stared at it for a long moment, letting it slide through her fingers. She looked up at Sasha. “Is this my jacket that disappeared?”

  Jacket better now, Slayer said.

  Lyss slid her arms into the sleeves and fastened it down the front. The scales were a variety of colors, like quicksilver in the sunlight.

  Now Lyssa Wolf looks like Lyssa Dragon, Slayer said. Hard to bite, hard to flame.

  “I love it,” Lyss said, fingering it. “Thank you,” she added, dabbing at her eyes with the back of her hand.

  Each small reunion seemed complete and perfect in itself, requiring time to savor. Ash hated to intrude, but he just couldn’t wait any longer.

  Ash stepped away from Goat and said in a hoarse voice, “Lyss?”

  She turned toward him, her hand on her curved sword, that familiar impatience on her face. “Yes? Sasha, who’s this? Do I know you?” Her eyes swept over his features, swept over them again. “Hanalea’s blood and bones,” she whispered, with an expression of mingled hope and disbelief. “Ash?”

  “Lyss,” he said again. He’d planned out what he would say a hundred times. And changed it a hundred times. Now the words seemed wooden. Inadequate. “I’m sorry I broke my promise to you.” He swallowed hard, never taking his eyes off her. “I told you once that you might be the queen we needed. And you are.”

  Goat nudged him forward, all but knocking him into Lyss. And then Lyss grabbed him and held on. Her strength was amazing—and reassuring.

  She was crying—laughing and crying—and squeezing in words here and there. “The empress . . . said she had you . . . said that she would burn you alive if I didn’t . . . I didn’t want to, but she had your amulet, and you were— I have lost you so many times already.”

  She pulled the serpent amulet out from under her shirt. “See? She gave it to me—told me to wear it to remind me of what would happen to you if—”

  They both closed their hands over the amulet, and flash rocketed through them. And, again, their father’s voice.

  It was worth it. You are worth it.

  Lyss’s eyes widened, filled with wonder. She looked down at the amulet and up at Ash. “Did you—is that—”

  “I saw him,” Ash said. “I talked with him. And so when they took the amulet from me, I thought I had lost our connection with him forever.”

  Lyss lifted the chain from around her own neck and slid it over Ash’s. The amulet rested just above his collarbone, where it belonged.

  “He is really, really proud of you,” Ash said. “We’ll go and see him, I promise, and he can tell you himself.”

  For a long moment, Lyss said nothing, only studied his face intently, as if trying to recall the brother she’d followed around years before. “You’ve changed,” she said finally. “When—when I thought you were dead, I always wondered who you would have turned out to be.”

  After a long pause, she seemed to wrench herself back to the present. “Where have you been?” she said. “Where were you coming from, when you—”

  “I’ve been in the fighting east of the Spirits,” he said. “With Mother, Captain Byrne, General Dunedain, and—”

  “Mother is alive, then? Thank the Maker. I’ve heard so many different stories, I didn’t know what to believe.” Lyss jammed her hands into her breeches pockets. Familiar. Ash was beginning to see remnants of the girl he remembered, like tiny gifts from the past.

  “Hadley is here,” Lyss said. “And Shadow. They’re back in the city. And Lila Byrne—I think you know her. And Destin Karn.”

  Reflexively, Ash gripped his amulet. “What the hell is Destin Karn doing here?”

  “It’s complicated,” Lyss said. “One thing you can say about Celestine—she’s brought the Realms together.”

  “Excuse me, Your Majesty,” someone said.

  Lyss turned. It was Matelon—the soldier who’d tried to protect her from the dragons.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, Your Majesty,” he said, “but Mercier, Lereaux, and I are going down to camp to answer questions from the men. And women,” he added awkwardly. “I will get used to that, I promise.” He glanced at Ash, then back at Lyss. “I don’t suppose you want to come with us.”

  “No,” Lyss said. “I’ll talk to them tomorrow morning.”

  Matelon turned to Ash. “I’m Hal Matelon,” he said, offering his hand.

  “The son of the thane? The army officer?”

  “Yes,” Matelon said.

  Ash had seen the elder Matelon in Ardenscourt, at the ill-fated dinner where the Thane Rebellion began. He could see the resemblance of son to father. Matelon was looking Ash up and down, as if taking his measure.

  “I’m Adrian sul’Han,” Ash said. “Lyss’s brother. Which, from the looks of things, is how I’ll be known from here on in.”

  “I know the feeling,” Hal said. “I’ve lost Delphi to your sister. Twice.”

  “Don’t forget Queen Court,” Lyss said.

  “How could I?” Matelon said. “Since you bring it up daily.”

  Ash laughed. “She’s always hated losing,” he said. “Even when she was little, she’d find a way to win.”

  “Matelon is the new king of Arden,” Lyss said.

  “Really?” Ash looked south, toward Fellsmarch. “What happened to Jarat?”

  “He’s dead,” Lyss said, her jaw tightening. “Lieutenant Karn did us that favor.”

  Karn? Ash’s racing mind stumbled over that.

  “I think it’s General Karn now,” Matelon said.

  “He told me he’s done with the army,” Lyss said.

  I wonder if I’ll ever catch up, Ash thought.

  “What’s going on with the bloodsworn?” he said. “These seem . . . different than the ones I’ve seen before.”

  “We may have found a way to loosen their bond to the empress,” Lyss said, brushing her fingers over a healing wound on her forea
rm. “It may be too soon to tell, but my officers think there’s been a change, that they’re showing more initiative, more self-reliance. I hope that isn’t just wishful thinking.”

  “I told them to be careful what they wish for,” Matelon said. “They may miss having soldiers who do what they’re told, don’t ask questions, and never complain.”

  Lyss laughed.

  Matelon saluted Lyss and went to turn away.

  “Kings don’t salute,” Lyss said, arching an eyebrow. “Do we need to send you to king school, Matelon?”

  Matelon waved that comment away. Then he and his officers walked down the hill.

  Ash looked after them, a little jealous of their easy camaraderie, then turned back to Lyss.

  “So. This Matelon. Do you trust him?”

  “Yes,” she said simply. She broadened her stance and lifted her chin as if ready to do battle on the southerner’s behalf. In that, again, he saw the sister he remembered.

  “What about Karn?”

  She rocked her hand. “As he says, we share an enemy. The empress. And he’s been a gold mine of information about conspiracies at court.”

  Ash was confused. “In Ardenscourt?”

  “No,” she said. “In Fellsmarch.” When he opened his mouth to ask more questions, she shook her head. “We’ll talk about that later. There’s so much to tell, so much that I still don’t know.”

  It seems like we all have a piece of this puzzle, Ash thought.

  But Lyss had already moved on. “So you’re alive, and Sasha is. How about the pirate Strangward? I’m told he sailed with you to Carthis?”

  Ash nodded. “Strangward saved me and Sasha after our ship foundered. It turns out he’s magemarked like Breon. When we left, he and Breon were sailing for the Carthian Coast. They intended to give Celestine something to worry about back home.”

  Lyss smiled, as if relieved. “You’ll have to tell Karn that. He’s convinced Strangward is dead.”

  Ash recalled what Evan had said when the flyers left for the Realms.

  Destin Karn is important to me. I want you to do everything you can to make sure he survives and thrives, no matter who wins.

  “There’s so much to say,” Lyss whispered. “If we had a hundred years, we still couldn’t say it all.”

  “But we can make a start,” Ash said, “right now.”

  64

  BETRAYAL

  As midsummer approached, Breon became obsessed with identifying bolt-holes up and down the coast where he could take refuge when the empress returned. Each morning, he would climb to a rocky plateau above Evan’s house and meet Splash and sometimes Splinter for the day’s adventures. They even crossed the straits to the Northern Islands, making some of the first detailed maps of that region, hidden for so long behind violent storms and high seas.

  Evan would have loved to go with them, but he found himself hip-deep in disputes between his client shiplords and other up-and-comers who saw the free ports as an opportunity to carve out fiefdoms of their own. Horselords and pirates had short tempers and, it seemed, shorter memories. Pledges and agreements burned off like mist in the midday sun.

  After a day of hand-waving arguments and posturing, Evan was ready to board a ship—any ship—and sail away. He was still down on the waterfront when Splash and Splinter dropped from the sky, landing hard on the quay beside him. This was unusual. The dragons tended to avoid the harbor front, with its forest of tangly masts and excitable humans.

  “Did you get tired of waiting?” Evan said. “I was just heading home.”

  Breon stuck in cave, Splash said.

  Breon, Splash, and Splinter had flown south to Midden Bay to explore and map some of the sea caves there.

  “What do you mean, he’s stuck?” Evan said.

  In cave, won’t come out, Splash said.

  “And you’re too big to fit?” The dragons were frustrated, sometimes, that the humans could go places they couldn’t. This wasn’t the first time that Breon had gotten so involved in exploring that he forgot the time. “Did the tide come in? Was there a rockfall? Is he hurt?”

  Stuck. Evan come help. Apparently, Splash thought that was enough of an explanation.

  “All right,” Evan said, thinking that flying away on a dragon was almost as good as sailing away. “Let’s go up to the house and I’ll get some gear. We need to go now if we want to get there before dark.”

  They flew south along the coast, Evan riding with Splinter and Splash carrying ropes and tackles, medical supplies, and clothing and camping gear in case they needed to stay over. To the west, the sun was beginning its descent, but they had several hours of daylight left.

  Midden Bay was one of the best places to hide a ship between Endru and Tarvos. It was surrounded by tall cliffs and riddled with fissures and caves that often filled with water at high tide. It was unsuitable as a port, since the only way to off-load cargo was to winch it up the cliffside to the high plateau at the top. The plateau was also the only good landing place for a dragon. Evan unloaded the gear and carried it to the edge of the cliff. A rope had been tied to a tough, gnarly juniper lodged in a niche just below the plateau. It passed through a tackle and snaked down the cliff face nearly all the way to the water.

  “Did he climb down here?” Evan said, turning to look at the dragons crowded in behind him.

  Down rope, into cliff.

  Evan sighed, pulled on his gloves, wrapped the rope around his body, and backed off the cliff’s edge. He rappelled down the stone wall toward the water. Who knew that his long days of climbing in the rigging of sailing ships would prove useful on land as well? Near the bottom, he found a gash in the rock large enough for him to slide into. He swung his feet into the cave, then turned and looked up to where the dragons were peering over the edge.

  “Here?” he said.

  Yes. Don’t get stuck.

  The floor of the cave was wet, with puddles of seawater here and there, so Evan knew it must flood at high tide. “Breon?” he called. His voice echoed against stone, but there was no answer. From the sound of it, the cave went back quite a distance into the cliff. Evan picked his way forward over a floor littered with fallen rock and fissured with cracks and crevices. It would be easy to twist an ankle or fall. He could hear the sound of waves crashing against rock ahead, so he knew there must be other outlets to the sea. Perhaps Breon had gone all the way through and come out on the other side.

  Evan heard something—a sound farther on that might have been a moan. It was getting brighter again, so he knew he must be approaching the other entrance to the cave. He rounded a corner and saw shadows moving against the wall.

  And then something solid crashed into the back of his head. He fell forward, trying to break his fall with his hands, but his forehead hit an outcropping of stone. He must have bitten his tongue, because at once, his mouth was full of blood. His vision swarmed with black spots, then everything went dark.

  Evan awoke, conscious of tightness around his neck, something hard and metallic and suffocating. He tried to reach for it, but then discovered that his hands were bound tightly. His head hurt like fury in two places. A few feet away, he heard water lapping on stone. He cracked his eyes open and saw that he was lying on his side on a rock ledge, in a stone chamber lit by flickering torches.

  He turned his head, and saw another trussed-up captive—Breon. Breon with a metal collar around his neck—one of the kind used to control mages in the wetlands. The kind Cas had been wearing when Evan bought him at the market.

  What you cast out to sea will eventually wash up on your shore, Evan thought. A sailor’s proverb.

  A small boat was tied up nearby, and shadows moved through the darkness, stowing away supplies, apparently in preparation for departure. Barnacles and algae lined the walls to a point high above their heads, which meant that the cave must be underwater at high tide. It appeared that the tide was coming in, though high tide was probably an hour or two away.

  “Stormcaster!” a fam
iliar voice said. “I was beginning to think I’d hit you too hard. And that would be a shame, because the empress wants you alive.”

  It was Tully Samara, planted at the water’s edge, arms folded, smiling broadly. “How do you like your new collar? The empress brought them back from the wetlands. She said they should make it much easier to get you two safely back to Celesgarde.”

  “You’re going to Celesgarde?”

  “Yes. The empress has taken the stormwall down.”

  “Actually, I was the one who took the stormwall down. And then we took the city down. You sure you want to go there? It’s not much more than a ruin.”

  Samara eyed him suspiciously. “What’s your point?”

  “My point is that you don’t want me for an enemy,” Evan said.

  “I’m not worried,” Samara said. “Without the dreki, and without your stormcaster magic, you’re just scummer on my boots.” The shiplord took a sounding in the channel, then nodded to his crew. “Put them aboard. It’s time.”

  Samara’s bloodsworn crew picked Breon up by his hands and feet and swung him aboard the jolly boat. Evan was next.

  With that, Breon spoke for the first time. Or, rather, sang:

  This is where it all begins.

  This is where it all ends.

  The shattering

  The rejoining

  Forged in the bleeding earth.

  As it has been, it shall be again.

  At midsummer,

  When the sun pauses in the sky.

  It was odd, hearing Breon’s voice without the element of magic in it. It sounded somehow plain, undecorated.

  “What’s that, a prayer?” Samara said.

  Outside, a clamor arose as the dragons began keening their displeasure and frustration.

  Samara flinched and looked toward the entrance. The flicker of flame was visible in the distance, glittering on wet stone.

  “They usually like my singing,” Breon said, shrugging. Evan could see his eyes glittering in the light from the torches.

  “You can sing for the empress in a little while,” Samara said, stepping into the boat, setting it to rocking.