“There’s a part of me that’s screaming, ‘yes, I want to fix it,’ right now,” Kiri answered, “but there’s also another part that wants to slap you and yell that you don’t get a free pass for hurting me. In all the time we’ve known each other, Gavin, you never hurt me…until today. It’s still raw. I’m still fighting back tears. I don’t know what to think, honestly.”
Gavin nodded. “Okay. I’ll leave it with you, then. Take all the time you need. Thank you for speaking with me.”
Kiri nodded, and Gavin turned and left her suite.
* * *
The morning after Gavin’s arrival in Terris’s court, he sat at the desk in his suit examining a collection of notes. In truth, he didn’t know why he was still in Vushaar. The time had long passed for him to return to Tel.
A knock at the door drew Gavin’s attention. He set aside his papers and went to the door. Opening it, he found a young page in royal livery; he couldn’t have been more than fourteen or fifteen.
“How can I help you?” Gavin asked.
“His Majesty asks if you have time to attend a strategy session of the city’s defense counsel, Milord,” the page answered.
Gavin considered the matter and mentally shrugged, saying, “When does the session occur?”
“With all respect, Milord, I will escort you there now if you agree.”
“Well, there’s nothing like advance notice,” Gavin replied, grinning. “Let’s go.”
The young page led Gavin through the core doors of the palace, eventually delivering him to the doors leading to the war room Gavin had visited when he first arrived in the city. Gavin knocked twice and entered, the page following him. King Terris and several advisors were already present. As Gavin approached the map table, Terris gestured for the man at his right to make room for him.
“Please forgive the short notice, Milord,” Terris said as Gavin arrived at the table.
Gavin smiled. “Think nothing of it, Terris. How can I help?”
“The main topic for the session today is what to do with the nest of chaos off the north wall. While we have sufficient forces to hold the city, we do not have enough forces to force the siege camp to surrender. I was hoping to get your unique perspective while we discuss options,” Terris replied.
“And you don’t want to risk an attack with the forces you have in case the new threat helps them get their act together,” Gavin remarked. “Are there any other units of the Vushaari Army close enough to call?”
“No, unfortunately,” a man wearing a staff officer’s uniform answered. “Most of our units that are not garrisoned in the capital or province capitals are scattered all over the back of beyond trying to capture the rebel soldiers that have turned to banditry.”
Gavin nodded, his eyes on the map table. He knew where Terris could obtain some shock troops…if asking for aid was permitted and if the Council of Clans would agree. He shifted his attention to the king, asking, “Was the old alliance ever repealed?”
“Not as such, no,” Terris said. “It faded into the background, especially after the death of Bellock Vanlon.”
“So, there is still a treaty to which all the signatories are bound?” Gavin pressed.
Terris shrugged. “I wouldn’t see why not. No one ever specifically abrogated it that I’m aware.”
Gavin smiled again. “Do you happen to have a copy of it?”
“Yes, but not here. It’s in the Royal Archives.” Terris turned to the page who had escorted Gavin. “Would you please go to the Archives and bring Vushaar’s copy of the old alliance?”
The page snapped to attention, nodding once. “Yes, Your Majesty!”
As the young man fast-walked out of the room, Terris turned back to Gavin, asking, “What are you thinking?”
Gavin shook his head. “Let’s wait for the page to return. I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up if I’m wrong.”
* * *
The page tried not to run, but it was hard. So hard. Uncle Q’Orval had taught him to always make the best impression possible, and he wanted to get the book from the Archives as fast as he possibly could.
He smiled to beat back the sadness. Q’Orval wasn’t his real uncle; he was an orphan. His parents had been killed by marauding troops back in the early days of the civil war. A really nice lady at the refugee camp in the city had brought him to Q’Orval, and Q’Orval had taken him in on the spot. That was months ago, now, and he hadn’t been hungry or in danger since.
At last, the doors to the Royal Archives came into sight, and the page smiled. He increased his speed to something between a fast walk and a jog. When he reached the doors, he pulled one open so fast he didn’t see the man stepping from between the reading tables with a stack of books.
They collided, and the books went flying.
* * *
He stood at the edge of the main aisle. He’d long since forgotten his birth name amidst the many aliases and identities he’d used over the years. At the moment, he was Garth, an assistant archivist. The book he held in his hand was a long-sought prize among his fellows, for it was the sole record of the meeting that decided the hiding places for the foundation artifacts of his master’s prison, who the world at large knew as Lornithar. His only problem now was to find a way to leave the Archives with it; there were banks that had less security over gold.
A commotion to his left drew his attention, and he smiled. A royal page had sent another archivist’s armload of books in every direction. He quickly scanned his immediate area and saw everyone seemed focused on the books and the boy. Excellent.
He stepped further into the aisle between bookshelves and opened the book’s well-thumbed pages right to the information he sought. The commotion was still loud and active as he ripped the pages from the book and stuffed them into his robe. He exited the aisle, placed the book on the cart laden with other tomes for re-shelving, and went about Archivist Garth’s business for the last time. He’d slip out of the city that night with no one the wiser.
* * *
“Oh, I’m so sorry, sir!” the page gasped as he picked himself up from his stumble. “Here, let me help you.”
The man looked to be about half Uncle Q’Orval’s age, and he gave the page a kind smile. “I appreciate that, but you don’t have to. What brings you to the Archives today?”
“His Majesty sent me for the copy of the old alliance,” the page answered.
The man blinked. “Well then, you absolutely will not help me gather these books. We mustn’t keep His Majesty waiting. One of the archivists at the circulation desk will help you find it.”
“Are you sure, sir?” the page asked. “I feel rather poorly that I caused you extra work.”
The man smiled again. “I’m fine. The books are fine. As long as you weren’t hurt, it’s okay. Besides, my wife says I don’t get enough exercise anyway.”
“Well…if you’re sure,” the page said and, at the man’s nod, dashed to the circulation desk.
* * *
Everyone in the room looked up when the doors opened. The page hurried inside, clutching a scroll case as if his life hung on its care. He approached the table and held out his prize to the king.
“Your Majesty, I have the copy of the old alliance here,” the page said.
Terris smiled, accepting the scroll case. “Thank you, young man. Have a seat and go back to your studies. I’ll call if I need you again.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” the page replied, snapping to attention once more before returning to his seat.
Terris turned and offered the scroll case to Gavin, who accepted it. Gavin wasted no time removing the scroll from the case and started reading. It took some time to wade through the flowery prose of the document that bound six societies in mutual defense and assistance, but Gavin eventually found the passage he sought. The alliance did indeed contain verbiage granting members in good standing the right to seek aid from other members. The members being asked for aid were under no compulsion to provide it,
but the treaty guaranteed a hearing at least.
Gavin smiled as he read it and shifted his attention to Terris, saying, “So…want to go to Qar’Zhosk with me?”
The room erupted in pandemonium. Every councilor spoke, trying to talk over everyone else. The chaos lasted for a few heartbeats until Terris clapped his hands and called for silence.
“I will not have such chaos and disregard for order and discipline,” Terris remarked, not quite glaring at his advisers. “Let’s try that again, and this time, act like the adults I thought you were.”
The councilors all looked to each other, as if trying to decide who would speak by telepathy or something.
“Your Majesty, attempting to go to Qar’Zhosk is a death sentence,” one finally spoke. “No one has survived going to the dracon lands since they withdrew from the world.”
“That’s not entirely true,” Gavin countered. “I, and those traveling with me, went to Qar’Zhosk on our way to Vushaar. As a matter of fact, the Crown Princess and my former apprentices were named Drak’Thir; I only agreed to go to Qar’Zhosk if they were protected. Come to think of it, one of my current apprentices is a dracon. She said she sought me out after our visit.”
The councilors gaped at Gavin, and it took considerable willpower for him to keep his expression neutral when he really wanted to grin.
“Terris,” Gavin continued, “if you are willing to ask the dracons for help, I guarantee your safety. I understand the King of Vushaar cannot go anywhere unaccompanied; you can bring Roth Thatcherson and one other. Between the three of us, your safety will not be in question.”
Chapter 8
Terris, Roth, and a Cavalier Gavin didn’t know met him in the palace courtyard. It was a bright day, the sun shining down from a cloudless sky. Cavaliers along the fringes of the courtyard stopped what they were doing to watch.
“Are you ready?” Gavin asked.
Terris nodded. “You’re sure they won’t kill us? I know that sounds a bit cowardly, but I’m enjoying having my daughter back. I’d like more time with her.”
Gavin shook his head. “They won’t harm even a hair on your head.”
“Let’s go, then,” Terris replied.
“We’ll arrive at the gate to the Qar’Zhosk tunnel,” Gavin explained. “Once we obtain permission or welcome or whatever you want to call it, I’ll open another gateway to the facilities where they house visiting merchants. It will be short walk to the Council of Clans from there.”
Gavin focused his thoughts on the gate where they had gone into the Godswall Mountains, picturing it in as great detail as he could and pushing every other thought from his mind. His intent complete, he invoked the Word, “Paedryx.”
A sapphire archway of raw energy rose out of the courtyard flagstones, and Gavin heard startled gasps from the watching Cavaliers. The moment the archway rose to his full height, the interior flashed and showed the gate to the Qar’Zhosk tunnel.
“Shall we go, then?” Gavin asked, leading the way himself.
Not even ten heartbeats later, Gavin, Terris, and the two Cavaliers stood about fifty feet from the tunnel gate. As soon as Gavin released the power holding the gateway, the arch vanished in a flare of light.
As Gavin traversed the short distance to the gate, Terris gaped as he looked all around him, his expression very close to that of a child filled with wonder. “That was amazing. Roth, how long would it take to travel here on horse?”
“Over two weeks with the siege, Your Majesty,” Roth replied. “We would have to leave via the south gate and circle north once we made it out of the Sarnath Hills. If we could use the north gate, it would take maybe a week.”
“And we just came here as easily as crossing the hall to another room,” Terris remarked.
Roth smiled. “This is nothing, Your Majesty. I was not prepared at all for suddenly being in the palace courtyard when we had been standing in the wasteland of a slaver base with a company of Ivarson’s army bearing down on us. There was no archway, that time. He just moved us—slaves and all—to the palace courtyard. And that was after wiping out over two hundred slavers.”
Terris shifted his attention to the distant figure of Gavin speaking with the gate guards. “Just how powerful do you think he is…really?”
Roth shrugged. “I’m sure I don’t know, Your Majesty. I knew Marcus, and the way Lillian and the others talk about Gavin lead me to think the only difference between them is that Gavin hasn’t yet developed the instinctive awareness of his power that Marcus had.”
Gavin turned from the dracons at the gate and looked at Terris and his party, gesturing them to approach. Terris nodded once and began walking.
“It seems you will not be the first Vushaari to petition the Council of Clans,” Gavin said as Terris arrived.
“Oh?” Terris asked. “How so?”
“It seems Kiri’s uncle arrived yesterday on a mission to explore possible trading between Claymark and the dracons,” Gavin said.
One of the guards regarded Terris and his Cavaliers for a moment before saying, “You and your party have been granted access to Qar’Zhosk on the recommendation of the Scion.”
“The Scion?” Terris asked.
“Yes,” Gavin said. “They insist on calling me the Scion of the Liberator, even though I’ve explained at least three times that I’m not a direct descendant of Kirloth.”
“You are of his blood, however distantly related,” the lead guard replied. “Plus, you saved our homes by repairing our sky. Some think we do not award you sufficient honor.”
Gavin sighed. “I’ve also been over that with the Council of Clans, too. I don’t want honor or accolades. Your people needed help, and I was able to provide it. I enjoy helping where I can; that’s sufficient payment for me.”
The lead guard grunted as if he had his own opinions but saw no reason to continue the discussion.
“Any problem if I use a gateway to take us directly to the city?” Gavin asked.
The lead guard shook his head. “No. You are always welcome in Qar’Zhosk.”
* * *
Gavin resisted the urge to grin at how Terris and his Cavaliers rubbernecked like tourists while they walked the streets of Qar’Zhosk. In truth, it didn’t require much effort, as it seemed everyone wanted to greet him and offer thanks for all he’d done for them.
“Some of this construction looks reminiscent of dwarven architecture,” Terris remarked as they walked.
“I’m sure it is,” Gavin said. “This was originally a dwarven outpost, before the freed dracons needed a home. The buildings that look most dwarven probably date from before the arrival of the dracons.”
They soon approached an open-air forum with a cupola that served as the meeting space for the Council of Clans. Once Gavin led them into the space, they found Paul Claymark in discussions with the Council. Paul gaped at the sight of Gavin beside his king for a few moments before dropping to one knee before his monarch.
“It is good you have returned to us,” the ancient Councilor remarked. “Whispers of a very disturbing matter have reached us, and we cannot continue our discussions with Claymark until those whispers have been marked as truth or lies. Those whispers involve you.”
“Oh?” Gavin asked, raising his eyebrows.
A number of the Councilors nodded, and Xask spoke, “Yes. We have received word that Patriarch Claymark banned you from his lands after you saved his life, his family’s life, and the lives of his dependents. We chose not to raise the matter with his son, as it would be in his own best interests for those whispers to be false. What say you, Scion?”
Gavin heaved a sigh. “Yes, they’re true. We found five Roensil agents among Claymark’s guard force. We still had most of the country to travel, and I didn’t think we could afford the knowledge that Kiri still lived getting out. I killed them. Natan Claymark was rather unhappy about that, and once he and those who depended on him were safe, he told me never to return to his lands. I ensured my people knew that
the Claymarks were now fully hands-off, and we would do nothing further to protect them.”
By the time Gavin finished speaking, several Councilors growled or hissed. They stood and gathered in a tight circle, speaking their own language as they discussed. The various gestures Gavin saw suggested none were happy. The sidebar took so long that Gavin almost wanted to ask they greet Terris as a matter of courtesy, but considering what they were discussing, it thought it would be better to hold off on that. There was no reason to put Terris in the middle of things.
At last, the Councilors returned to their seats. The ancient one spoke:
“Claymark, we cannot even fathom the audacity and callous rudeness your father displays in such treatment of Kirloth on one hand while entreating us for trade with the other. Unless and until the matter is rectified and Kirloth is provided appropriate reparations for the dishonor committed by your family, the sun will grow cold and dark before the dracons have anything further to do with you. Indeed, were it not for the respect and esteem in which we hold Kirloth, you would return with a declaration of war upon your family and holdings. More than one of us argued that our response should be your corpse, a written note optional.
“Leave. Leave now, and flee our lands as if your very life depends upon it. Do not sleep until you are safely inside Vushaar once more; you will not awaken otherwise. Serve our notice to your father that anyone wearing Claymark colors entering our lands will die until this matter is resolved, no matter the reason for the trespass.”
Paul didn’t move, but he did glance at his king. The Councilors hissed again, almost as one.
“Do not expect Kirloth to save you,” the ancient Councilor almost growled, his voice harsh. “These lands are dracon sovereignty. Leave. Now. Or die. The choice is yours.”
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