Kingmaker (The Dragon Corsairs)

by Margaret Weis

  “Our nation is at war and I cannot wait upon the king’s pleasure. Inform His Majesty I will be in my office.”

  Smythe turned on his heel to find his nose planted against the brass buttons of a scarlet coat worn by an extremely tall marine.

  “His Majesty will see you now, sir,” said Sir Richard.

  “I am far too busy—” Smythe began.

  The marine clamped his hand on his shoulder.

  Smythe was now truly afraid. He dropped all pretense. “Tell that sniveling puppy that he should think twice before he tangles with me! I will ruin him!”

  “Search him for weapons,” said Sir Richard.

  Smythe stood rigid as the marines made a thorough search of his person. They removed a pocket pistol from the inside of his jacket and a knife from his boot.

  Sir Richard led the way to the Queen Mary Room, formerly the Rose Room. Marines guarded the door. This time they did not salute Smythe, and he realized the other marines he had encountered had gulled him, lured him into this trap. He entered to see his aide, Plackton, slumped in a chair, his head in his hands.

  Thomas was standing in front of the fire, gazing up at a portrait of Queen Mary.

  Smythe knew that a bold front could sometimes take the enemy by surprise, disarm them. He stalked into the room as though he owned it, which in his mind he still did. Thomas Stanford would rue the day he crossed him.

  “Why is my aide, Corporal Plackton, with you, Your Majesty?” Smythe demanded. “Is he being accused of some crime? If so, he is my officer, under my command. I should have been informed.”

  Thomas turned his head. His blue eyes were incandescent, like the blue at the heart of the hottest flame.

  “Corporal Plackton came to me of his own accord, Chancellor, when he received word of the Guundaran defeat at Wellinsport. He came to plead for mercy. It seems he was the one who told King Ullr where to find your secret stockpile of green-beam guns, such as the one you sent to Maribeau on board a black ship to attack the Dragon Brigade and start a war with Rosia. The corporal has provided me with additional evidence which proves you are a traitor to your country.”

  Smythe gave a derisive smile.

  “I remind Your Majesty that I was the one who sent the Terrapin to the Aligoes. If I had listened to you, Wellinsport would now be in Guundaran hands.”

  “The fact that Wellinsport is not in Guundaran hands is due entirely to the bravery of Captain Northrop and his crew, Smythe. You acted to send away the Terrapin at the behest of King Ullr.”

  “I have no idea what Your Majesty means,” said Smythe stiffly. “Whatever Corporal Plackton has said is a lie.”

  “He said nothing about the Terrapin,” said Thomas. “He didn’t have to. I have been aware of King Ullr’s plot to invade Freya for some time. Plackton did tell me that you also knew of King Ullr’s plans, yet instead of coming to tell me in order to save your country, you went to King Ullr to save your own skin.”

  Smythe saw the enemy closing in, about to overrun his position. But he did not fall back. His nerve still held. He carried the fight into the enemy’s camp.

  “Very well, sir. I did meet with King Ullr,” said Smythe, regarding Thomas with hatred. “I met with the king of Guundar in order to prevent you from plunging us into a ruinous war!”

  Smythe pointed an accusing finger at Thomas. “I was doing you a favor, sir! Endeavoring to save you from your own folly, as I have so often done. I warn you, sir. If you dare bring charges against me, I will make public the truth about you. I will tell the Freyan people that you conspired with the Rosians and the traitor Henry Wallace to kill the queen and seize the throne. They will believe me. I have supporters in positions of power, members of the nobility who will back me.”

  Thomas gave a grave smile. “You may do your damnedest, Isaiah Crawford. For that, I believe, is your real name.”

  Smythe could not speak. He could not breathe. His true name had landed at his feet like a bomb with a lighted fuse. He was dimly aware that Sir Richard was droning on in sonorous tones like a judge, charging him with multiple counts of murder. Smythe could hear only the hissing of the fuse, see only the sputtering sparks as the flame crawled closer and closer to the gunpowder.

  He had lost this battle, but he was not about to lose the war. He still had his ambition. He still had his plans.

  He still had his hatred.

  He saw without seeming to see that no one was guarding the double glass-paned doors which led to the balcony overlooking the palace grounds.

  Smythe opened his mouth, as though to say something, then lunged for the doors. Flinging them open, he ran out onto the balcony before anyone could stop him. He slammed shut the doors and shoved the marble bench against them, effectively blocking them.

  From inside the room, he could hear Sir Richard shouting and men beating on the doors, trying to force them open.

  Smythe walked to the balustrade and coolly looked down to see the ground several stories below. Behind him, the marines were smashing the glass with the butts of their rifles.

  Smythe placed his hand on the balustrade and vaulted over it.

  * * *

  Thomas had watched in shock as Smythe apparently ended his life in a fatal plunge off the balcony. When the marines were at last able to break down the double doors and shove the bench aside, Thomas ran out onto the balcony and looked over the edge, expecting to see a crumpled body on the ground below.

  Smythe lay on the ground at first unmoving, and then he groaned and slowly leveraged himself to his feet and started to try to run off. He did not get far before his left leg crumpled and he fell to the ground. Aware that the marines were coming after him, he struggled to rise again.

  “Surrender, Smythe!” Sir Richard called. “You cannot escape!”

  Smythe cast a grim look of defiance at those gathered on the balcony and picked himself up, only to fall again. He picked himself up again and this time he managed to keep going, limping on his injured leg. He reached the shadows of the trees and they lost sight of him.

  “He won’t get far, Your Majesty,” said Sir Richard. “The marines will search every speck of ground.”

  “They won’t find him,” Thomas predicted. “The Evil One takes care of his own.”

  The Evil One did indeed take care of his own.

  The marines spent all that day and far into the night searching. They found no trace of Jonathan Smythe.

  Or Isaiah Crawford.

  FIFTY

  Kate and Dalgren had departed Maribeau the day after Lady Rowan’s funeral, tasked with flying to Haever as swiftly as possible to tell Thomas that Freya was not alone in her fight against Guundar. Cecile had written an urgent letter to King Renaud explaining the dire situation and he had given orders for the Dragon Brigade to travel to Freya, to assist Freyan forces.

  Brigade quartermasters began the task of assembling saddles and harnesses and other gear and equipment, taking them out of storage and distributing them among the riders. The dragons went out hunting for what would be perhaps their only chance to eat before arriving in Freya.

  Watching the dragons massing together, flying over the mountains, Kate tried to imagine the reaction of the Freyan people when they saw their feared and hated foes descend from Freyan skies.

  “Some would undoubtedly prefer the Guundarans,” Kate said to Dalgren as they readied themselves for the journey.

  Grooms from the Brigade were on hand to assist Kate with the saddle and harness, a luxury previously unknown to her. She and Dalgren had always wrestled with their old saddle themselves.

  “Is that strap too tight around your belly?” Kate asked anxiously, watching the grooms work.

  “I can scarcely feel it’s there,” said Dalgren.

  Kate eyed him to see if he was telling the truth. Dalgren was so proud of being a part of the Brigade, even if only as a volunteer, that he might be lying so as not to offend anyone. She checked the saddle and harness herself, as every rider should, and found n
othing wrong. The grooms knew their business.

  The new saddle was crafted of leather with a high back, equipped with an intricate set of straps that would hold the rider securely during even the most dangerous maneuvers, such as rolling to evade gunfire or swooping down on a target at high speed.

  The saddle came with built-in storage for four new pistols, each with the latest magical enhancements; a new rifle; and a cutlass with a dragon motif etched on the blade. Their equipment also included a knife, a braided leather rope, a chain ladder for use in boarding ships, and coils of rope, rations, and water.

  Kate especially gloried in her Dragon Brigade uniform: a leather overcoat, a helm and boots, breeches, shirt, and gloves, all bearing the symbol of the Brigade. Military crafters had covered the clothes in magical constructs that protected against all manner of hazards, including flames, bullets, dragon-fire, and the elements.

  Dragon appliqués wound up the wide lapels of the leather coat. As Kate tied the nonregulation red kerchief around her neck, hiding it beneath the shirt collar, she remembered the little girl who had told Stephano, all those years ago, she wanted to be a member of the Dragon Brigade.

  The sun was rising red on the horizon when the grooms reported to her that Dalgren was saddled and ready. Kate climbed into the saddle. The grooms assisted her as she strapped herself in, then wished her luck and departed.

  “We fought for our dreams,” Kate said to him, patting him on the neck to indicate she was ready to fly.

  Dalgren blew a triumphal gout of flame and sprang into the air.

  The flight through the Breath to Haever was far easier and more comfortable than the exhausting trip she and Dalgren had made to Maribeau. The Winter Witch had seemingly grown weary of flinging lightning bolts and pelting travelers with sleet, for they flew through clear skies, and the sun, though it brought little warmth, at least was shining.

  The full moon was starting to wane, but provided enough light for them to keep flying until both were too exhausted to continue. They made plans at night when they were resting on one of the floating islands in the Breath.

  “When we reach Haever, we will fly to your cave,” said Kate. “You can hunt and rest, regain your strength, while I go to the palace to talk to Thomas.”

  She carried with her two letters. One was from Captain Thorgrimson to Thomas, giving him details about the Brigade and approximately when they might be expected to arrive. The other letter was from the countess and it was addressed to Sophia, marked personal.

  “Give Sophia my dearest love,” Cecile had said, handing the letter to Kate. “Tell her she has my blessing.”

  Kate hoped this meant that Cecile was going to give Sophia her blessing to marry Phillip. Kate was pleased for them and pleased for herself, too, although she tempered her joy with the reminder that just because Thomas was free to marry didn’t mean he was free to marry her.

  Thomas Stanford was the descendant of kings. Katherine Gascoyne-Fitzmaurice was the granddaughter of a viscount who had plunged his family into financial ruin, while her father had been a disgraced naval officer who had taken to smuggling, only to be killed by a gang he’d tried to cheat.

  But Kate now felt free to acknowledge to herself that she loved Thomas, even if she could never tell the world. She had loved him from the moment they first met, when she had held him at gunpoint and looked into his striking blue eyes.

  She and Dalgren reached Haever at around five of the clock the following afternoon. They kept hidden among the clouds, hoping to reach Dalgren’s cave on the coastline without being seen. As they flew over the city, Dalgren drew Kate’s attention to the harbor.

  “The navy is preparing for war,” he said.

  Kate lifted the visor of her helm and looked down to see Freyan warships lining up in battle formation in the Breath. A large crowd had assembled at the dock.

  “They can’t be!” Kate said in dismay. “It’s too early. The invasion is set for Hallen Day and that’s still days away! What is going on?”

  Dalgren twisted his head to speak to her. “More to the point, where do we go now? My cave overlooks the harbor. If we land there, half the Royal Navy will see us!”

  Kate was wondering the same thing. They could fly to the caves near Barwich Manor, but that was a long way from Haever and she needed to be close to reach Thomas. She was trying to come up with a better solution when she saw Welkinstead wreathed in clouds not far from them. The house had returned and was once again triumphantly “drifting with panache” in the skies above Haever.

  “We will talk to the man who lives in that house,” Kate told Dalgren. “He’s a friend of Sir Henry’s!”

  Kate had never met Simon, but Amelia had told her about him. He had a marvelous vantage point from his position directly above the city. If anyone would know what was happening in Haever, it would be Simon. And from what she had heard of him, he would not be frightened by a dragon arriving at his front door.

  She patted Dalgren on the neck and pointed at the floating house. Dalgren disapproved, which he showed by blowing smoke from his nostrils. He didn’t know this human and therefore didn’t trust him. Kate repeated her gesture and thumped him on the neck by way of emphasis. Dalgren snorted flame in protest and reluctantly flew toward the house.

  As they drew closer, Kate could see a wyvern-drawn cab parked in front of the entrance. Dalgren hissed at her and jerked his head. Kate followed his line of sight to the roof, where Sophia and Amelia were trying to draw her attention. Sophia waved her hand. Amelia waved her umbrella.

  Dalgren hovered in the air just above the roof, keeping the motion of his wings to a minimum. Kate lowered the chain ladder, climbed down from the saddle, and hurried to greet her friends.

  Sophia embraced her, then held her at arm’s length to admire her. “You are wearing the Brigade uniform! Does this mean you and Dalgren are members of the Dragon Brigade?”

  “Unofficially,” Kate replied. “It’s a long story, and I don’t have time to tell it right now. Where’s Bandit?”

  “Locked in the pantry,” said Sophia. “He has developed a very bad habit of chasing Master Yates in his chair.” She touched the red kerchief that was around Kate’s neck and laughed. “Is this now part of the uniform?”

  Kate tugged at it. “I try to keep it hidden beneath the shirt collar. I am so glad I found you! What is going on in Haever? Dalgren and I saw the ships in the harbor—”

  “We are preparing for war,” Amelia stated. “King Ullr has launched his invasion early. His fleets are sailing toward Haever, and five of his ships are armed with green-beam guns.”

  “Simon and I have been developing a magical weapon of our own to stop them,” Sophia added. “What about the Dragon Brigade? Did you reach them?”

  “Yes, and they are coming to fight the Guundarans,” said Kate. “But they won’t be here in time. They don’t know the date for the invasion has been advanced.”

  “I will fly to tell them,” Dalgren offered. “You let the king know the Brigade is coming.”

  “A good idea,” said Amelia. “I’ll take you to Thomas. My cab is parked in front.”

  Kate climbed back up the ladder so she could retrieve the two letters from the saddle and arm herself with two of the pistols, powder and shot, and the cutlass, which she attached to her belt.

  “Where should I meet you when you return?” she asked Dalgren.

  “I’ll find you,” said Dalgren.

  “But you won’t know where to look,” Kate objected.

  “Wherever there’s trouble, I know you’ll be in the middle,” Dalgren said, grinning at her, showing his fangs and puffing smoke.

  Kate thumped him on the neck. “I’ll meet you in your cave. By that time, the navy will know you’re on our side and hopefully they won’t shoot at you. Don’t you dare fly into battle without me!”

  Kate climbed back down the ladder onto the roof, then touched a magical construct at the bottom, releasing the ladder from the saddle so that it would
not impede Dalgren’s flight. The ladder landed in a tangle at her feet. She gathered it up and tucked it under her arm.

  She waved at Dalgren and he took flight, dipping his wings to them as he passed overhead.

  “Where can I find Thomas?” Kate asked. “Is he in the palace?”

  “He is probably there now, although he won’t be for long,” said Sophia. “He said he would not hide in the palace when his country was going to war. He plans to sail to battle on board the Valor.”

  Amelia eyed Kate’s uniform with the dragons emblazoned on the lapels. “You won’t be allowed anywhere near the king wearing a Rosian uniform. The Dragon Brigade may be coming to fight for Freya, but the Freyans don’t know that. You should take it off.”

  “No, Kate must leave it on for her own safety,” Sophia corrected. She touched the coat, tracing her finger over the leather. “This coat is covered with some of the strongest protective magic I have ever seen. Layer upon layer of constructs that link together like chain mail.”

  Kate smiled and smoothed the soft, supple leather with her hands. “Wearing this uniform has been my dream since I was little. I will leave it on. In fact, I may never take it off.”

  “Then I suggest we meet Thomas at the harbor, or on board the Valor, Admiral Baker’s flagship,” said Amelia. “The admiral is a friend of Sir Henry’s and he’ll recognize you.”

  She added, frowning, “At least hide the dragon emblems. I am serious, Kate. That uniform could put you in danger. People are clamoring for Rosian blood. Countless Rosians have been attacked on the street, their homes and businesses burned. Here, you can borrow my muffler.”

  Kate conceded that Amelia was probably right. She draped the red wool muffler around her neck so that it concealed the dragons on her coat, then the three left the roof and descended the stairs.

  “You didn’t run into Phillip when you were in the Aligoes, did you?” Sophia asked anxiously. “I have heard nothing from him.”

  “No, but that reminds me,” Kate exclaimed. “I have something for you. I almost forgot.”