by Peter Fane
This story is for Daniel—
true of heart.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
THE FOLLOWING CHARACTERS ARE FAMILY MEMBERS, SOLDIERS, OR HENCHMEN LOYAL TO BELLÁNOS DALLANAR. THIS SIDE OF THE REMAIN’S HIGH HOUSE RESIDES IN THE TARN, THE HIGH KEEP OF THE DUCHY OF KON.
COAT OF ARMS – Acasius’s Star in silver on a field of high blue.
HIGH LORD BELLÁNOS DALLANAR, Duke of Kon and Ward of the Tarn. Also known as “The Silver Fox,” or – in loyalist circles –as “the High King,” or simply as “the King,” the younger brother of Dorómy Dallanar with whom he disputes claim to the Silver Throne.
HIGH LADY ADARA DALLANAR, Bellános’s wife and queen, the Mistress of the Tarn; also known as “Adara the Good.”
LORD TOMAS DALLANAR, Lady Adara’s firstborn; assassinated in F.Y. 12,039.
LADY EÍRA DALLANAR, the Duchess of Aradan Primu and Lord Tomas’s wife; assassinated in F.Y. 12,039.
PRINCESS KYLA DALLANAR, Lady Eíra’s firstborn, a girl of fourteen years.
BRUNO, a cloud mastiff, Lady Kyla’s protector and friend.
LILY, a cloud mastiff, Bruno’s mother, protector and friend of High Lady Adara.
PRINCE TARLEN DALLANAR, Lady Eíra’s second-born, a boy of eleven years.
PONJ, an ogre of Jallow, son of Colj, and the sworn shield of Lord Tomas’s children, Tarlen’s protector and friend.
PRINCESS SUSAN DALLANAR, Lady Eíra’s third-born, a girl of seven years.
LORD MICHAEL DALLANAR, Lady Adara’s second-born, the Dark Lord of Kon, the High General of the Tarn, and the wielder of the Vordan, a warrior of legendary ferocity.
STEPHEN YATES, Captain of the Lord Michael’s High Guard.
LORD DOLDON DALLANAR, Lady Adara’s third-born, Master and Defender of the Tarn’s Kitchens, Wards, and Armories, a feaster and lover of life and day.
CELINE QUAY, Captain of Lord Doldon’s Guard.
GART PYLON, the Chief Steward of the Tarn, one of Bellános’soldest friends.
MASTER FALMON D’ JYRE, Weapons Master of the Tarn.
CORDEN SHUM, co-janitor of the Fourth Gallery of Cannon.
TELLY CROOT, co-janitor of the Fourth Gallery of Cannon.
TENDAL “CHIEF” YOP, BENJY DALTER, JUDER LOWN, MATEO ZOUDER, CRAZY BILL FEMP, VALERI PENANCE, ROST GONNERDUN, STEF TORN, JASS XI-SWOL, GILDA BORNWINDER,KAN ZEBBER, LITTLE DAN EADLE, cannon cleaners of various ages.
GEORGE CADENS, Second Steward of the Tarn.
ERIKA CADENS, George’s daughter, a girl of six years.
LORD GAREN DALLANAR, Lady Adara’s fourth-born, the Lord Librarian of Remain, Master of Spies, and Finder of Secrets, a scholar and mind unmatched in the Realm.
BRADLEY DURN, Captain of Lord Garen’s High Guard.
KELTON TOLLER, Lord Garen’s Chief Huntsman, Master of Beasts, Raptors, and Scouts; killed during the first year of the Siege of the Tarn, F.Y. 12,038.
GEORGIA TOLLER, Kelton Toller’s widow.
FILIP TOLLER, Kelton Toller’s firstborn, a scout and herald of fifteen years.
JORDUN SLEDDER, DELEN QUINE, and BRODE
TELLERMAN, the scouts of Filip Toller’s squad.
NORDO NESS, Lord Garen’s Chief Librarian, an ancient man from the Void.
LORD JAMES DALLANAR, Lady Adara’s fifth-born, a twin; called “The Executioner” by his brother, Michael.
DEREK PYLON, Captain of Lord James’s Guard, also son of Gart Pylon.
LORD JEREMY DALLANAR, Lady Adara’s sixth-born, a twin; drowned in the Sea of Ice at the age of eight, F.Y.12,029.
LADY KATHERINE DALLANAR, Lady Adara’s seventh-born; recently returned to the Tarn from Paráden and parts unknown.
CAPTAIN FELLEN COLJ, an ogre of Jallow, Chief of theTarn’s Watch, new Captain of Lady Katherine’s Guard.
VUDJ, KHADJ, RUDJ, DOJ, and OTHERS, Captain Colj’s ogres.
THE DAVANÓRIAN CONTINGENT, LOYAL TO BELLÁNOS DALLANAR
CAPTAIN ANNA DYER, a renowned dragon rider of Dávanor, a girl of seventeen years; beloved by Michael Dallanar.
MOONDAGGER, a war dragon of Dávanor, Anna’s mount, pure white, blind, 22 paces long, three years old.
MASTER ROGER KHONDUS, Master of Dragons of House Dradón, a Davanórian veteran.
MASTER BENGAMON ZAR, Master of Arms, an Anorian veteran.
GREGORY, a messenger dragon of Dávanor, Master Zar’s pet and friend, 11 palms long, four hundred and seven years old.
THE FOLLOWING CHARACTERS ARE FAMILY MEMBERS, SOLDIERS, OR HENCHMEN LOYAL TO DORÓMY DALLANAR. THIS SIDE OF THE REMAIN’S HIGH HOUSE RESIDES IN THE KÁLADAR, THE HIGH KEEP OF PARÁDEN.
COAT OF ARMS – Acasius’s Star in gold on a field of creamy white.
HIGH LORD DORÓMY DALLANAR, Duke of Paráden and Ward of the Káladar. Also known as “the Iron Lion,” or – in loyalist circles – as “the Pretender,” or simply “the Traitor,” the older brother of Bellános Dallanar with whom he disputes claim to the Silver Throne.
HIGH GENERAL VYMON RUGE, Duke of Rigel, Lord of the Siege of the Tarn, one of Bellános’s and Dorómy’s oldest friends.
LORD JANNON RUGE, General Ruge’s firstborn, a wastrel and libertine.
LORD JARED RUGE, General Ruge’s second-born, a shy and gentle soul.
LORD JON RUGE, General Ruge’s third-born, Duke of Kesst, a schemer and narcissist.
HIGH GENERAL JAMES TAVERLY, Count of Nordán, Underlord of the Siege of the Tarn, one of Bellános’s and Dorómy’s oldest friends.
LADY JANE TAVERLY, Lady of Rigel, General Taverly’s firstborn.
HIGH GENERAL CORLEN LESSIP, Duke of Peléa, Underlord of the Siege of the Tarn, Dorómy’s spy master and torturer.
HIGH GENERAL ANTHONY CAROLE, Count of Nordán, Underlord of the Siege of the Tarn, one of Bellános’s and Dorómy’s oldest friends.
HIGH GENERAL ADJOA SERÁN, Countess of Ebavia, Underlady of the Siege of the Tarn, one of Bellános’s and Dorómy’s oldest friends.
HIGH GENERAL BAO SHU, Count of Ferragias, Underlord of the Siege of the Tarn, one of Bellános’s and Dorómy’s oldest friends.
HIGH GENERAL KRODAN, Duke of Yor, Underlord of the Siege of the Tarn, a man without mercy.
CAPTAIN MARDEN JULANE, Captain of the Guard of the High House of Gelánen and High Lady Eleanor Julane’s uncle, a man out of his depth.
The Kingdom of Remain spans all space and memory.
It is the Eternal Kingdom, the Silver Kingdom, an ancient sphere born of our love and our sorrow, our blood and our joy.
The Kingdom of Remain encompasses countless stars and minds. It has served our people for millennia. And we have served it in return.
The Kingdom of Remain is our place. It is our home.
The Kingdom of Remain is our legacy. It is our story.
It is the only tale we have worth telling.
The following events take place in the Twenty-Eighth Year of Dorómy III, Founding Year 12,040.
“Many Princes have asked: ‘What makes the perfect Soldier? Is it Courage? Is it Ferocity? Is it Discipline? Is it Loyalty?’ All will make for a great Warrior – but they are nothing without Heart. Without Heart, a courageous Soldier is a Contradiction. Without Heart, a fierce Soldier is a Savage. Without Heart, a disciplined Soldier is a Slave. Without Heart, a loyal Soldier is a Zealot. A Warrior’s Heart is the Source of a most sacred Power, binding all Strands together, yet standing wholly on its own. For this Reason, I say: ‘Give me but one Soldier, true of Heart, and I will give you a World.’”
– Katherine II, The Canon of Tarn, “Prolegomena to Imperial Tactics and Diplomacies.” F.Y. 189
PROLOGUE
“YOU ARE CERTAIN? You have no doubt?”
“It is he, my Lady. Without questio
n. The one for whom we have waited. And he found us, as was foretold.”
“Does he require our protection?”
“No, my Lady. He is a perfect warrior, a living weapon, and they love him for it. He shall soon command all the Kingdom’s loyal hosts; the Realm shall tremble.”
“Do they know what he is?”
“Some suspect. But they are quick to forget—and easily misled.”
“Does he know what he is?”
“He feels our song within him, but understands not what it means, nor whence it comes.”
“And what of the child queen?”
“She is a threat, my Lady. Especially to him. She is cunning, she is strong, and she does not fear him. But she is young—and entirely alone.”
“Is she vulnerable?”
“Perhaps. The coming three days hold many opportunities.”
“The work must be protected.”
“The promise must be kept.”
THE FIRST DAY
1
“WHAT’S A MATTER, big fella?” Little Dan Eadle asked Stormhammer.
Stormhammer—an enormous battle cannon—didn’t answer.
Little Dan frowned, tucked his cleaning rag into his belt, and rubbed his hands together. It was freezing down here! Cold and dark, the stone walls wet and shiny like they always were, but real cold tonight, a nasty cold that got down in your bones, froze your toes into little frozen beans.
“Frozen beans!” Dan hollered, kind of singsong. “That’s what I mean! Frozen beans!”
Little Dan nodded to himself, stepped off his toolbox, and picked up his clay lamp. Then he stamped his feet to get blood flowing to the beans and walked around Stormhammer head to tail, running the little lamp’s flame along the cannon’s huge side. He was looking for smears or smudges. Those things could make the big fella upset. And even though Stormy didn’t have any beans to freeze, Dan was pretty darn sure the big boy didn’t like the cold none, either.
“I miss somethin’, Stormy?” Dan shivered. The lamp shook. The orange flame wobbled and smoked. “That why you upset? I do it bad somewheres?”
He cocked his ear toward the cannon, listening.
Stormhammer didn’t answer.
Dan nodded and gave the gun a pat. Stormhammer’s huge muzzle looked exactly like the mouth of a big, roaring dragon: lips pulled back from big dragon fangs, dragon eyes squeezed shut like he was getting ready to breathe fire.
A draft flickered Dan’s lamp. He cupped the little flame to protect it. A drip of water plinked somewhere in the dark. The air was so cold, you could see your own breath.
“Dunno what you’re worried for, Stormy.” Dan scratched his head. “No, sir. You’re lookin’ good. Real good. You’re a fine lookin’ dragon. For truth!”
But there was something off.
Little Dan was only eight years old, but he’d been cleaning the Tarn’s battle cannon since he turned six. The Chief and the others were always saying that Dan didn’t know his head from a hole in the ground. That might be true. But Dan did know this: He knew when there was something wrong with one of his guns.
2
IT WAS THREE bells before dawn. Little Dan had been working in the Tarn’s lower armory most of the night. The armory was a huge room, about a hundred paces long, its walls made of big, grey stones. Here and there, iron clamps and hooks for torches and lanterns and whatnot stuck out of the joints, but none of that stuff was lit, so it was dark, so dark you could barely see one side of the place to the other. A drip of water kept drip-dripping somewhere. And it was cold. Cold and dark like a cave.
Now, some folks might think that working your tail off in a butt-freezing dungeon in the dead-middle of night was tough—or at least not so much fun.
But not Little Dan.
“No, sir. It’s good. The best job there is. Yes, sir. For truth!”
The best time of the day, the best place to work, the best everything. The cannon masters and war adepts and all the others had left a few bells past, and the rest of the cleaning crews had long since crawled off to their bunks.
So it was dark, and it was cold, but it was good.
“They might have the smarts, but they dunno that secret.” Dan patted Stormy’s side.
The secret was this: Little Dan loved being down here in the cold, cleaning the big guns. He loved listening to the cannon’s old songs in the middle of night. And—more than anything—he loved being a soldier.
“Yes, sir!” Dan walked along Stormy’s side, holding his lamp up, looking into every nook and cranny. “Good soldier I be! One, two, three! Yes, am, me! One, two, three!”
And he was always trying to get better.
“That’s right, boy.” Little Dan stopped in his tracks and growled, making his voice all rough, talking to himself in Master Falmon’s rough voice. “Every day’s a day to do better. Every day.” Now Master Falmon, he had the smarts. Yes, sir. Every day, do better. One of the rules. And Dan was pretty sure that Master Falmon never felt the cold none, either. No, sir.
“Do the best and make it right, every day before the fight!” Dan sang to the dark.
It really was perfect. No pals to play with, nobody to mess with, nobody to get in the way of the work. Just him, a dozen giant battle cannon, and his best friend in the whole world: Stormhammer.
Just how Little Dan liked it.
3
AND THEN DAN saw the spot.
It was just a little thing, right there behind Stormy’s eye.
Not a big spot, hardly a spot at all, about half the size of a coin.
“Missed a little thing there, Stormy.” Dan touched the big gun’s side. “Easy fix. Yes, sir. Easy as pie. Sorry ‘bout that. Nothing to worry for.”
Little Dan set down his lamp and dragged his toolbox over. He draped his rag over his index finger and squeezed the rag so it pulled tight on his fingertip. Then he spit on his finger, stepped onto his box, and cleaned the spot with his fingertip, polished until the scale shone like buffed silver.
“See, Stormy?” Dan picked up his lamp, squinted at the scale. “Told ya. Nothin’ to worry for. No, sir! Real sorry ‘bout that. Just a little thing—.”
Behind him in the dark, a gloomy reflection lurched in the cannon’s side, a hunched beast with hooked wings, hissing fangs.
“Who’s there?!” Dan yelped and spun around, banged his elbow on Stormy’s side, almost dropped his lamp, nearly tripped off his box.
“Who’s there?!” He squeaked again at the dark, lifting his lamp, staring wide-eyed into the shadows, his elbow all sore now. The lamp’s orange glow made the cannon shadow dance.
Nobody.
“‘Course nobody,” Dan muttered to himself.
Sometimes, the big guns just showed you scary stuff like that, right there in their skins. Dan’s knees shook, and his teeth chattered. He sat on his box, set his lamp away from him so he wouldn’t knock it over, and rubbed his sore elbow.
“Ouch.”
His shoulder was hurting a little, too. And his legs were cold; freezing.
“Darn pants, you ain’t no good.” He rubbed his shins up and down, sitting on his box, trying to get warm. “Gotta get back to it, soldier. Can’t take breaks.” Not how the work got done. Every soldier knew that. Breaks were how you got cold.
“You must be a crazy, sittin’ in the cold like that,” he said to himself, tapping the center of his own forehead. Then he changed his voice so that it sounded all mellow like Chief Tendal’s. “You a crazy, Little Dan? A stupid, little crazy? Ain’t you? Ain’t you? Crazy little crazy.”
“I might not have the smarts!” Dan answered in his own voice, rubbing his elbow. “Sisters know I’m sorry for it! But I ain’t no crazy, Chief! No, sir! I’m a good soldier!”
“You sure, Dan?” Dan asked himself in the Chief’s voice. “You sure you ain’t a stupid and a crazy?”
“Not a crazy,” Dan hollered. “Sisters’ truth! No crazies down here! Is there, Stormy?”
Stormhammer did
n’t answer.
“See?” Dan nodded. “No crazies.”
Dan stepped back onto his box and gave Stormy a big hug. Stormy was cold, but Dan hugged him anyway, sharing a bit of his own warmth. He knew it wasn’t how a proper soldier would do it, but this was one thing where he really didn’t care. And Stormy didn’t mind, either. In fact, Dan was pretty sure the big boy liked it.
“Gotta finish up, Stormy.” Dan’s teeth chattered. “Gotta make sure you’re shiny, top to bottom. No dust, no dirt, no nothing.”
He got back to wiping the cannon down, going over everything one last time. “No time to waste. And you, sir.” He patted the big gun. “You gotta settle down. No more showing that scary stuff. They’ll be countin’ on ya, Stormy. High Lords comin’ down right soon. Master Falmon said so. Day after ‘morrow. High Lords called you up to fight—.”
Dan stopped mid-stroke and straightened up.
“Is that what’s got you all worked up?” He cocked his ear to the big gun’s dragon mouth, listened carefully, and then patted Stormy’s side. “Shoulda known! You’re just excited, Stormy. That’s all. You’re lookin’ fine. Real fine. You’ll do great. Nobody holds a candle to you, Stormy! Now, how ‘bout those chops? Big mutton head.”
Little Dan got off his box, scooted it around to the cannon’s front, and shook out his rag. He folded it twice, stepped back on the box, and starting on the bottom of Stormy’s jaw. Dan thought that the old master from olden times who had made Stormy had done a real good job. Stormy wasn’t just a cannon that looked like a dragon. He was a dragon. Stormy’s pal, Oblivion, was made in the same way, but he looked like a huge, roaring lion. All the other big guns down here were like that. Dawnshatter was a howling wolf. Hakon’s Fist and Aaryn’s Might were a pair of bellowing bulls. Nightbliss was a screaming gargoyle. Fel’s Bane and Rattlin’ Jimmy, those two new guns that had just come down a couple months past, they were a couple hissing snakes.
