Kingmaker (The Dragon Corsairs)

by Margaret Weis

  “If the weather holds—and I think it will, for the wind is from the west—we should reach Haever by morning,” Alan told them.

  “Now you have jinxed us,” said Henry, rounding on him. “Touch wood.”

  “You have been around Randolph too long,” said Alan, but he obligingly ran his fingers along the wooden rail, then rested his hand on Henry’s shoulder. “Staring at the coast won’t bring us there any sooner. Let us go below for a glass of Calvados before dinner.”

  “Deck there!” the lookout bellowed. “Dragons!”

  At that dread cry, every man on deck stopped what he was doing and turned to look into the sky.

  The dragons flew in “wings” of six, flying in “V” formations that allowed them to make eye contact with each other, and thus providing them the means to communicate. The sunlight glittered on their scales. Henry could see the riders in their specially designed saddles and the shining emblems each dragon wore on the chest.

  “The Dragon Brigade,” said Henry exultantly. He rubbed his gloved hands together. “They came, Mr. Sloan. They came! Kate managed to reach them in time!”

  But the sailors watched them with dark and grim expressions, viewing the dragons with suspicion, obviously thinking that the Terrapin should be running out her guns.

  “Begging your pardon, sir, but do you trust them?” Lieutenant Hobbs asked Alan in an undertone. “Why would the Brigade fight to save us now? They have always sought to destroy us.”

  Henry overheard the question and replied before Alan could answer.

  “A Rosian/Freyan alliance makes sense from the Rosian standpoint, Mr. Hobbs. If King Ullr seized Freya, he would acquire our ships, which are the finest in the world, far better than anything he can build. And once he established himself in Freya, his ambitious gaze would turn to Rosia, where King Renaud calculates that it is in his own best interest to stop Ullr now before he can increase his strength, even if that means coming to the aid of a long-time foe.”

  “‘The enemy of my enemy is not my friend, just the means to an end,’” said Alan, grinning. “Isn’t that what you always say, Henry?”

  “I do,” said Henry. “I fear I will find it very hard from now on to hate the Rosians.”

  Braving the cold, he leaned over to watch the green of the Freyan coast gradually come into view beneath the keel, seeming to float on the orange mists. As the sun drew nearer the horizon, the reddish glow of twilight set the mists aflame, an image Henry did not find reassuring.

  * * *

  The fiery rays of the setting sun shone on the Valor, lighting the way for the ship’s boats carrying officers of the Freyan fleet to join their king and their admiral for dinner on board the flagship. Everyone assembled knew they faced overwhelming odds in the upcoming battle, and that many of those seated around the table might be dead before morning.

  In spite of that—or perhaps because of it—the meal was cheerful. Thomas led the talk to the Terrapin’s astonishing victory over the Guundarans and the officers vowed that Captain Northrop would not have all the glory to himself.

  Thomas was aware that these men had initially harbored doubts about their new young king. He was a stranger to Freya, having been raised in Estara. He spoke Freyan with an Estaran accent. But they had heard stories of his heroics in the battle against the Bottom Dwellers, and they knew Queen Mary had named him her heir and given him the ring of King James the night she had died. All that counted in his favor.

  Still, they wondered. Their doubts had vanished, however, when Thomas had announced he was going to board the Valor and join them in battle. They knew he could have stayed safe in his palace.

  “To His Majesty,” said Randolph, raising his glass in a toast. “If I were king, I’d rather be on board this ship fighting for my life instead of sitting on my throne waiting for some goddamn Spud to chop off my head.”

  After dinner, Thomas and the officers retired to the admiral’s quarters to formulate their battle plan. They gathered around a chart on which Randolph had marked the Guundarans’ latest known position, which was south of Glenham, heading for Haever.

  “By sailing all night, the enemy will arrive in Haever near dawn,” said Randolph. “Our scouts report sixty enemy ships. Forty of these are ships of the line and five ships are armed with green-beam guns. Scouts in Glenham saw four of these goddamn guns on board sloops that had been refitted to accommodate them, for they have to be mounted on a rotating platform. They could see the green-beam guns on the foredecks.”

  “Only four, sir?” Thomas questioned. “King Ullr boasted that he had five.”

  “The discrepancy is troubling, sir,” said Randolph. “What is even more troubling is the fact that the four sloops armed with these guns did not sail with the main body. Griffin riders sent to shadow the fleet reported back this afternoon that they could not locate them.”

  The officers looked grave.

  “Perhaps the guns proved too unstable to use,” one suggested.

  “Or too valuable to risk,” said another. “He will use them as reinforcements, wait to see how the fighting goes and send them in only if he is losing.”

  “Then let us make goddamn sure he is losing,” Randolph growled and the officers laughingly agreed.

  Thomas looked at the faces of the men around him, resolved to do their duty and fight and die if need be for their country and their king. His eyes dimmed and, fearing that tears of pride might be misconstrued as tears of weakness, he walked over to gaze out the window at the lights of the city of Haever, shining in the darkness.

  Randolph went on to lay out the battle plan.

  “We are outnumbered, gentlemen, but the Guundarans lost the element of surprise and we have gained it. They have no idea they are sailing into a trap.

  “Here is what I propose. The Guundaran ships are bigger than ours, but they are slower and far less maneuverable. We send in our fastest ships to cut the enemy’s line and scatter his ships, like a wolf charging into a flock of sheep. We can then pick them off at our leisure.”

  The officers exchanged glances. All of them knew the battle would not be the least bit “leisurely.” It would be hot and heavy and hopeless.

  “You sent word that the Dragon Brigade was coming to aid us, sir,” one said. “Do you know when they will arrive?”

  “They are coming,” said Randolph. “But we cannot count on them to arrive in time.”

  “Can’t count on the damn Rosians at all,” one officer grumbled to a comrade, who nudged him and glanced at Thomas.

  “I have sent a messenger to tell the Brigade that Ullr is preparing to attack tomorrow,” said Thomas. “We hope the Brigade arrives in time, but we must rely on ourselves to repel the invasion.”

  “You should prepare your crews for the possibility that the Brigade will come, make them aware that the goddamn dragons are on our side,” said Randolph.

  The officers shifted uncomfortably. Thomas could judge the sentiment in the room by the thundering silence. Most of them probably trusted the Guundarans more than they did dragons.

  The ship’s bell rang seven times. Half past eleven. The officers would be eager to return to their ships. The admiral brought the meeting to a close.

  Randolph turned to face Thomas. “One thing I know for certain, Your Majesty. Every soul from the powder monkey to the most senior officer will give his all. If we go down, we will go down fighting.”

  The officers sailed back to their ships. Since the Valor had been refitted to use the crystals of the Breath and could travel inland, Randolph sailed north over the city of Haever to keep watch. The Valor would signal when the enemy was in sight. The rest of the fleet took up positions near the harbor, concealed in the mists of the Breath.

  “Go to bed, Your Majesty,” Randolph advised. “You will need your rest.”

  Thomas took his advice and lay down on the bed in his small cabin, determined to sleep. He tried closing his eyes, but he could feel Kate’s kiss still warm on his lips. She was a mem
ber of the Dragon Brigade and presumably she would be going into battle tomorrow. The thought terrified him. He longed to wrap her in cotton wool and tuck her away in a drawer for safekeeping. He smiled in the darkness as he imagined what she would have told him in return.

  Thomas expected to sleep fitfully, if he slept at all, and he surprised himself by falling into a deep slumber. He was jolted awake by the sounds of beating drums. Lighting the lamp, he looked at his watch, which he had laid on a shelf near his bed. The hour was five of the clock and this was confirmed by the ship’s bells. He hurriedly dressed and ran up on deck, nearly colliding with sailors dashing to their posts. Randolph and the captain were on the quarterdeck, both staring at something through their telescopes.

  Midshipmen had hoisted signal lamps warning, “Enemy in sight.” The other ships acknowledged the signals with alacrity. Everyone had been waiting for this moment.

  “Good morning, Your Majesty,” Randolph stated with a broad grin. He handed Thomas the spyglass. “There they are. The Guundaran invasion force. Just as Simon predicted.”

  The sun had not yet risen. Dawn’s glow lit the sky, but the mists were still dark. Thomas could see the ships, their running lights glittering on the horizon, numerous as stars.

  Randolph chuckled and rubbed his hands. “King Ullr is going to be in for a nasty shock. Ah! There, sir! They’ve seen us!”

  Thomas could see a flurry of activity among the fleet of enemy ships. Signal flares burst in the sky. Signal lanterns flashed.

  “Is King Ullr sailing with his fleet, do you think, Admiral?” Thomas asked.

  “The bastard will be somewhere close, you may be sure, sir. Waiting to make his triumphal entry into Haever.”

  “I would give a great deal to capture him,” said Thomas.

  “Not likely, I’m afraid, sir,” said Randolph. “Ullr will be observing the fight from the comfort of his yacht. He won’t venture near. He considers himself too valuable to risk his precious person in battle.”

  “Unlike me, apparently,” said Thomas, grinning as he handed back the spyglass. “You have no compunction about risking my life.”

  He was teasing, but Randolph regarded him earnestly. “‘Those who will not risk cannot win.’ You are a true king, sir. You have shown that this day.”

  Thomas was touched. He turned the collar of his coat against the chill morning wind and watched the lights of the enemy ships draw closer.

  The Valor signaled to the fleet to prepare for battle. One by one, the other ships responded.

  “Too bad there isn’t a signal for ‘God help us,’” Randolph remarked.

  * * *

  Dalgren landed in front of the cave with a thud that shook the ground.

  “Wake up, Kate!” he roared. “I know you’re in there!”

  “I’m awake,” Kate grumbled. She had jumped to her feet in excitement, forgetting about her bruised ribs, and she had to take a moment to wait for the pain to recede. The salve must be wearing off. She slathered more of it on her torso, front and back, then hurried out to meet Dalgren.

  “Is the Brigade coming?”

  “They are not far behind me. I came ahead to pick you up.”

  “Then it’s time,” said Kate softly.

  “Climb into the saddle,” said Dalgren, with a gleaming-fanged grin. “This day you and I fly with the Dragon Brigade.”

  Fight for your dreams.

  FIFTY-THREE

  The Duchess of Welkinstead had converted the wine cellar in her fantastic house to a workshop where she had spent most of her waking hours tinkering with her various inventions. She did not need a wine cellar, she had maintained, because she knew nothing about wine, so why cellar it.

  “Doesn’t matter to me if I drink a rare, expensive vintage or the local plonk,” she had said to Simon. “Especially since most of the time I prefer the plonk.”

  The walls and ceiling of the workshop were blackened and cracked from the occasional explosion, and the floor was stained with acid and other chemicals. Simon and Albright, Amelia and Sophia had worked all night in the wine cellar to have the Eye ready by dawn. Bandit had refused to join them. He didn’t like the cellar. He had slept at the top of the stairs, whiffling in his dreams.

  They raided the house for objects they required in the construction of the weapon. The barrel was made from the telescope that Simon had kept for years in his office. Under his direction, Albright cut the telescope into three pieces of differing lengths and trimmed them so that each one fit into the next like a collapsible spyglass.

  He melted down one of the duchess’s tea sets to obtain silver and, at Sophia’s suggestion, Amelia mounted a ladder to remove drop-shaped crystals from one of the chandeliers to serve as a prism.

  “We insert two glass rods—one charged with magic, the other with contramagic—into the end of the first chamber,” Simon explained. “The switch brings the two rods into contact, releasing the energy and firing the weapon.”

  Sophia applied magical constructs containing the Seventh Sigil to the silver that coated the walls of the telescope. Simon imbued the chandelier crystals with the same constructs to concentrate the energy obtained from the rods.

  “There is just one problem,” said Simon, frowning at the Eye. “How do we store the energy?”

  “But that’s important, isn’t it?” Amelia asked, startled.

  “Essential. Won’t work without it,” said Simon.

  Sophia regarded him in dismay. “I hope we haven’t done all this work for nothing!”

  “No, no,” said Simon. “The solution will come to me.”

  Albright spoke up. “If I might make a suggestion, sir. What if we use the duchess’s lightning-powered airscrew?”

  “That is genius, Albright!” Simon exclaimed. “I haven’t thought about that contraption in years! Unfortunately, I have no idea where it is.”

  “I believe it is in the broom closet, sir,” said Albright. “I can fetch it.”

  “What is a lightning-powered airscrew?” Sophia asked.

  “The duchess invented an airscrew that worked off what she termed ‘manufactured lightning,’ using a ‘lightning jar’ to store the energy. She hoped to sell her invention to the navy and invited the Lords of the Admiralty to witness a demonstration. Unfortunately, the machine sent an electric shock through one of the admirals, knocking him across the room. That ended the demonstration and the duchess was forced to abandon the idea.”

  Albright returned with the airscrew and Simon dismantled it. The lightning jar proved to be too large to fit into the telescope. But after studying the design, Simon was able to construct a smaller version using porcelain from a broken dinner plate. He inserted the porcelain into the second chamber to store the magical energy.

  “Now, once the switch is thrown, it should complete the circuit and release the energy into the third chamber of the weapon,” he stated.

  Albright ground down and realigned the lenses from the telescope. Sophia inscribed constructs on them and Simon mounted the lenses in the front of the weapon to focus the energy into a ball of magical fire.

  “The Eye is finished,” said Simon, regarding the contraption with pride. “I wish we could test it, but while I have a general theory as to its destructive power, I can’t be certain if it will work as planned. It might end up blowing a hole in the foundation.”

  “Where should I mount it, sir?” Albright asked. “Would you like it on the roof?”

  “No, Albright. The roof is too exposed, not safe, as we learned the last time the house was attacked. We will place the Eye in the study. Mount it on the tripod I used for the telescope. That will give us an excellent view of the entire city.”

  Albright ventured a protest. “We will have to break out the magnificent glass windows, sir. They survived the work!”

  “Then I won’t have to listen to you complain about washing them,” Simon returned.

  Mr. Albright opened his mouth and shut it again. Bandit suddenly jumped to his feet a
t the top of the stairs and began to bark and dash about in circles.

  Sophia looked up from her work. “Was that thunder? Bandit doesn’t like thunder.”

  They stopped to listen, and above the dog’s barking, they could hear muffled booming sounds.

  “That is not thunder,” Amelia said sharply. “That is cannon fire!”

  Simon began hastily gathering up his notes and stuffing them into the pockets attached to his chair.

  “Albright, signal the tugboat captains to push the house into position, then carry the weapon to the study,” said Simon. “The rest of us will follow.”

  Albright picked up the weapon and hauled it up the stairs to the second level. Sophia followed, emerging from the cellar, much to Bandit’s joy. His happiness at seeing his mistress evaporated when Sophia locked him in the pantry, where he found consolation for his imprisonment by the discovery of a pound cake. Amelia came last, loaded down with a variety of tools Simon thought he might need if he had to make adjustments to the weapon.

  They entered the study, which was located in a turret room with enormous glass windows on three sides that provided a panoramic view of the city of Haever.

  Albright shielded his eyes with one hand and, with a pained expression, used the fireplace poker to smash out the glass of the center window.

  Cold air poured into the room, feeling refreshing after the stuffiness of the cellar. They could hear the sounds of the cannon fire clearly. The sky glowed with the reds and oranges of a brilliant sunrise.

  Simon propelled his chair to the window and looked out to see the tugboats pushing the house to a location just above the harbor where he calculated the battle would take place. He looked down to see thick smoke and flashes from the muzzles of the cannons almost directly underneath the house, much closer than he had anticipated.

  Albright mounted the weapon on the tripod and positioned it in front of the window. The Eye, which weighed more than the telescope, caused the tripod’s legs to wobble unsteadily. Simon frowned at it.