Kingmaker (The Dragon Corsairs)

by Margaret Weis

  The wind blew even more fiercely, picking up debris and tossing it about. People on the docks panicked and tried to flee, seeking shelter. Trubgek gestured again and the raging wind struck at the Valor, tearing at the rigging and snapping the lines tethering the ship to the iron bollards on the dock.

  The wind was aiming at Thomas, buffeting him, and hit him a blow that sent him staggering. The wind pummeled him, seemingly intent on hurling him overboard. Admiral Baker seized hold of him, and dragged him back away from the rail.

  Trubgek spread his hands wide, and the wind howled like a living creature. Jagged streaks of lightning flared around the Valor’s masts.

  Smythe raised his voice, almost deafening Kate.

  “Behold the wrath of God!” he thundered. “He will destroy the wicked among you! Cast down the heathen king who seeks to betray you to the Rosians!”

  Kate shuddered, wondering if Smythe had gone mad. She glanced at him again and saw the glint in his eyes wasn’t madness—it was cunning. Kate understood his plan. Smythe was going to frame God, make Him appear responsible for Thomas’s death. Already some among the crowd were falling to their knees, weeping and exhorting God to spare them.

  “Thomas Stanford! Spawn of the Evil One!” Smythe roared. “God in His wrath will destroy you!”

  Thomas heard him and knew his voice. He turned to look at Smythe, saw Kate and realized she was in danger. He ran down the gangplank toward her, shouting for the guards and pointing at Smythe.

  Trubgek shifted his hand and the wind hit Thomas a savage blow that felled him. Guards surrounded him, trying to protect him even as they had to fight to remain standing.

  Kate felt the pistol press against her rib cage. She looked down at the coat she had worn with such pride, the coat of a member of the Dragon Brigade, the men and women and dragons who fought to defend the innocent. The coat—covered with protective magical constructs—magic and contramagic connected by the Seventh Sigil.

  Kate had no idea if the magic would stop a bullet, but she had to trust it, trust her dream. She clenched her fists.

  “Petar!” she shouted. “Petar! Look at me!”

  Trubgek started at the sound of his name—his true name. He stopped his spell casting and turned his empty eyes on her.

  “Shut up!” Smythe snarled, squeezing her arm with bruising force.

  Kate ignored him. “Petar, he is using you!”

  She spoke rapidly, for she had no idea how much time she had. “Smythe is no different from Coreg. He calls you Trubgek. He doesn’t know your true name. Only the insult … You are Petar! You can be free—”

  Smythe fired. The magical constructs that covered the coat flared blue-green, half blinding Kate and knocking the gun from Smythe’s hand. He cursed and hurled Kate to the ground.

  She landed on her stomach and rolled over onto her back in agony, fighting to breathe and sobbing in pain with every breath. The magic had saved her life, but had been unable to stop the impact of the bullet that had smashed into her ribs like a blow from a blacksmith’s hammer.

  People screamed at the sound of the pistol shot and tried to flee. Kate heard Thomas cry out in fear and anger. He must have heard the shot and seen her fall. She could not see him. All she could see was Smythe standing over her and people milling about her and storm clouds swirling above her. But she knew Thomas as well as she knew herself, and as she had fought to save him, he would fight God Himself to try to reach her.

  And Smythe knew Thomas as well. He coolly and calmly drew another pistol, ready to kill him when he drew close.

  Kate lashed out with her foot and struck Smythe in his left kneecap. Smythe cried out in agony and staggered, trying to keep his balance. Seeing Thomas running toward him, he raised his pistol. Thomas slammed into him with bruising force and carried him to the dock.

  The pistol went off. Smythe struggled to rise and Thomas drove his fist into the man’s jaw, smashing his head into the wooden planks. Smythe lay, unmoving, with his eyes closed. Marines and constables converged on him, taking rough hold of him.

  “We’ve got him, Your Majesty,” said one.

  Thomas worriedly turned to Kate, who lay on the dock, her hand pressed against her side. Guards surrounded them both, holding back the crowd of onlookers. Thomas knelt by Kate’s side and took hold of her hand.

  “Where are you hurt?” he asked anxiously.

  “I’m all right,” said Kate. “No, truly! The magic on my coat stopped the bullet. But what about you? The pistol went off.…”

  “He missed,” said Thomas. “And you are not all right. I can see you are in pain. I’ll send for the healer—”

  “No, wait! I came to give you a message!” Kate grabbed hold of him and then sucked in a pain-filled breath as the movement jarred her ribs. “The Dragon Brigade … They are coming to fight with us.…”

  “The Dragon Brigade!” Thomas repeated, regarding her in wonder. “Can this be true? You give me hope, Kate! When will they arrive?”

  “They were at least a day’s journey behind me,” said Kate.

  Thomas’s expression was grave, shadowed.

  “Then they will be too late,” he said. “King Ullr’s ships are even now sailing toward Haever.…”

  “Dalgren flew to warn the Brigade,” said Kate. “He’s coming back soon. I have to meet him.”

  She struggled to rise and, seeing that she was determined, Thomas put his arm around her and helped her to a sitting position.

  Kate clamped her lips shut on a groan and smiled, trying to pretend she was fine.

  She couldn’t fool Thomas, who regarded her in concern. “I’m fetching a healer.”

  “No, please don’t. Just give me a moment to catch my breath,” said Kate. “And I think that young man standing behind you is trying to get your attention.”

  Thomas looked around at an abashed-looking midshipman who had been hovering near him, shuffling his feet and loudly clearing his throat in an attempt to attract the king’s attention.

  “Yes, lad, what do you want?” Thomas asked impatiently.

  The midshipman flushed red with embarrassment. “Begging your pardon, Your Majesty, sir. Captain Mayfield says we must set sail now or we will lose the wind.”

  “The wind!” Kate gasped, stricken. “Oh, God! Trubgek!”

  She pressed her hand against her ribs in an ineffectual attempt to stop the pain and staggered to her feet. She looked for Trubgek, searching the crowd, but he was gone.

  The storm was receding. The wind was tearing the black clouds to rags. Lightning flared sullenly, but harmlessly.

  “Who is Trubgek?” Thomas asked.

  “He works for Smythe. He was right here!” Kate questioned the guards and those standing around her. “The man in the leather vest. Did any of you see what happened to him? Where he went?”

  “I didn’t see a man in a vest,” said Thomas. “Smythe was alone. The constables are taking him to prison now.”

  They had slapped Smythe in the face until he had regained consciousness, then yanked him to his feet and clamped manacles to his wrists and chains to his ankles. He was able to walk, though just barely, hobbling on his injured leg. His face and head were bruised and bloodied.

  Thomas went to confront him. “You had an accomplice, Smythe. A man called Trubgek. Where is he?”

  Smythe answered with vile words and lunged for Thomas, manacled hands reaching for his throat. Smythe’s attack caught the constables by surprise, but they quickly managed to wrestle him away from the king. Smythe’s face contorted in fury and he continued to fight, grinding his teeth as though he could grind Thomas’s bones. He raved at Thomas as the guards hauled him off, even twisting his head to keep him in sight and spewing invective.

  Kate shuddered. “That man hates you with all his being, Thomas. He ordered Trubgek to kill you. We have to find him!”

  “What does this man, Trubgek, look like, Kate?” Thomas asked. “I’ll have the constables search for him.”

  “A
strange man with empty eyes,” said Kate. “They can search, but they won’t find him. You should leave, Thomas. Now.”

  The midshipman agreed, for he coughed loudly and gave Thomas a pleading look. If the Valor missed the wind, the captain would vent his anger on his midshipman, not the king.

  “You must join your ship and I must find Dalgren,” said Kate. “He and I are flying with the Brigade.”

  Thomas pulled her close to him. “Do I have permission to kiss you now?”

  In answer, Kate cradled his face in her hands and pressed her lips to his.

  Thomas kissed her again and embraced her gently, mindful of her ribs. Kate looked into his blue eyes and, for a moment, the cheering crowd on the dock disappeared. The two of them were the only two people in the world.

  “Take care of yourself, Thomas Stanford,” Kate said. “Don’t let our story end here.”

  “I won’t,” said Thomas, smiling. “You still owe me that dance.”

  He tore himself away and walked to the ship. The marine guard fell in around him. The guards opened the gate for him and closed it after him. The people gathered close to the palisade, peering through the bars, calling out well wishes.

  Thomas arrived on deck and turned to wave to his people, who gave him a rousing cheer. The sailors quickly hauled in the gangplank. Dockworkers cast off the lines. The damage done to the ship by Trubgek’s attack had been minimal, for it had mostly been aimed at Thomas. Sails spread, balloons inflated, and the Valor rose into the air.

  The cheers of the crowd died away, and people gathered up children and headed home. They were not going back to put on the tea kettle and sit by the fire to talk over the events of the day. They were going home to prepare for war.

  Kate stood on the dock, watching until the sunlit mists of the Breath closed around the ship and Thomas was lost to sight. She could feel the pain in her side more acutely now and she realized she was going to have to find a healer or she would never be able to ride Dalgren.

  She started to turn away when she was arrested by the unusual sight of a man scaling the iron bars of the palisade.

  The man was not wearing a coat, only a leather vest. Recognizing Trubgek, she feared he was planning to finish what he had started, perhaps summon another storm, and she looked frantically about for a constable. None were nearby and she realized that even if she found someone, they could not stop him. She could only watch, helpless.

  Trubgek climbed rapidly and with ease, not an easy feat, for the barricade was ten feet tall and topped by iron finials. He attained the top of the palisade, grasped the finials, and climbed over them. He paused a moment at the top, then dropped to the ground the last few feet and stood looking around the docks.

  The dockworkers had departed, their job finished for the day. No one was watching him. No one had seen him.

  No one except Kate.

  As if he felt her presence, Trubgek turned and looked at her. She could not see his eyes. He was too far from her. But she had the feeling that they would not be empty. The flicker of light would reveal that tormented little boy, Petar.

  He was too far from her. She could not stop him and she was not sure she would have if he’d given her the chance. She could only let him know she understood.

  “Be free,” she told him.

  Trubgek turned away. He walked out to the very edge of the precipice and paused a moment to gaze down into the mists that curled around his feet. As calmly as though he was stepping off a curb, he stepped off the edge of the cliff.

  Kate stared at the place where he had been standing, hoping she would see him crawl back up over the edge, though she knew he wouldn’t. The emptiness was always and forever empty. Shivering, she drew her coat more closely around her. She had to find a healer and, after that, she had a long walk to Dalgren’s cave, and the sun was setting, darkness closing in.

  Kate left the dock and walked into the city, pressing her hand against her side and wincing in pain with every breath.

  As she made her way through the streets, she saw people hurrying to stock underground cellars with food and blankets and filling every container they owned with water. Apothecary shops were doing a brisk business in ointments, healing potions, bandages, and splints.

  Hoping she might be able to purchase a salve for her injured ribs from an apothecary, she stopped in front of a shop that featured a mortar and pestle on its sign. Before she entered, she took off her Dragon Brigade coat and inspected it in the waning light. The coat had a large burned spot on the back and smelled strongly of gunpowder. She bundled it up and tucked it underneath her arm.

  The shop was empty, except for the proprietor, who was removing glass bottles from the shelves and storing them away beneath the counter for safekeeping. Hearing the door open, the woman called, “We’re closed!”

  “I just need something for bruised ribs,” said Kate.

  The woman straightened up from behind the counter. She glanced curiously at Kate’s leather breeches and tall riding boots.

  “I fell off my horse,” Kate explained.

  The apothecary nodded as though she believed her.

  “I’m sold out of a lot, dearie. But I believe a mixture of arnica, comfrey, and a bit of magic will help, and I can make that up myself. Shut the door, will you, and turn the sign around to say I’m closed.”

  Kate did as she was asked. The apothecary eyed her, noted her grimacing with pain.

  “I was a nurse before I opened my own shop. Let me check to see if anything’s broken.”

  She took Kate to the back room and poked and prodded her. Then she sniffed at her and said with a sly smile, “Are you sure your horse didn’t shoot you, dearie?”

  Kate flushed. The woman shook her head.

  “I don’t think you broke any bones. The salve will ease the pain and reduce the bruising.”

  She smeared the salve over Kate’s tender ribs and bound her midriff with bandages. She refused to accept any money, and invited Kate to stay with her if she had no place to spend the night.

  Kate assured her she was going to stay with a friend, thanked her, and departed. She was still in pain, and every breath hurt, but after a time she noticed that the salve, bandages, and magic were helping, and she could breathe almost normally.

  Leaving the city, she took the path that led to Dalgren’s cave in the cliffs overlooking the Breath. The long walk did her good. She kept thinking about Trubgek. Part of her was glad he was gone and part of her felt guilty for being glad. She reminded herself that he had tried to kill Dalgren, tried to kill Thomas. Kate absolved herself from guilt. Trubgek was gone and, she trusted, out of her life forever.

  She reached Dalgren’s cave hoping to find the dragon had returned, but not really expecting it. She didn’t think he would be back much before dawn. She bundled up in her coat for warmth, made herself as comfortable as she could, and waited for morning.

  FIFTY-TWO

  Henry Wallace was rapidly recovering from his wound. Unfortunately, the better he felt, the more he chafed at inaction. His country was in crisis and he was far from home, forced to rely on a ship that in his mind was the very epitome of the name, Terrapin. It seemed to him to crawl through the Breath.

  In point of fact, the Terrapin was making good time. The devil did not fail Alan. His luck held. The repairs to the ship had gone better than he had expected, and the storms of the Winter Witch had abated. They sailed through cloudless skies, pushed along by a favorable wind, with the sun by day and the moon to light their way at night.

  That was small comfort to Henry. Unable to sit still, he roamed restlessly about the ship, fretting and getting in everyone’s way. The sailors were constantly bumping into him, the helmsman complained that Henry was continually peering over his shoulder and hinting that he did not know how to do his job. Henry drove Alan to the point of distraction by barging into his cabin several times a day to ask if he didn’t want to take another navigational reading.

  The third time Henry interrupted
him, Alan sent for Mr. Sloan.

  “I know Henry is worried about the Guundaran invasion, but I swear to God, Mr. Sloan, if he interrupts my work one more time, I will throw him overboard.”

  Mr. Sloan sought out his master and found Henry standing on the quarterdeck, wrapped in gloom, frowning at the buoys that bobbed about in the Breath, marking the route.

  When Henry saw Mr. Sloan approach, he knew by his secretary’s deferential demeanor and apologetic cough that he had come to remonstrate with him.

  “I know, I know,” Henry said tersely, before Mr. Sloan could speak. “Alan sent you to tell me I am making a nuisance of myself.”

  “He did mention something about throwing you overboard, my lord,” said Mr. Sloan.

  Henry scowled.

  “Alan doesn’t understand! We could arrive in Haever to find King Ullr victorious, our king dead or in prison, and the flag of Guundar flying over the palace!”

  “If you are right and the worst occurs, my lord, we will carry on the fight,” said Mr. Sloan imperturbably. “You and I alone, if need be.”

  Henry gave a grudging smile. “I know you are trying to cheer me, Mr. Sloan, but—”

  “Look there, my lord! We are nearing home!”

  Mr. Sloan pointed to one of the buoys just then drifting into view. This buoy was different from the others they had passed, for it flashed with a red magical light warning ships that they were approaching land.

  “By God, we are not far now!” Henry exclaimed.

  The lookout had also spotted the buoy and was shouting the news. The officer on duty sent a messenger to inform the captain, and Alan hurried up on deck, buttoning his coat as he came. He studied the charts, glanced at the buoy and sky, then ordered a change of course that would take them north along the eastern coast of Freya.

  Once the Terrapin was settled on her new course, he walked over to join Henry and Mr. Sloan, who were standing at the rail, peering through the mists, trying to catch sight of the coastline.