As they rode, he looked at the hill up ahead. Most of the stone that could be reused had been; the city walls stood strong again, if a little lower than before. He knew that the major buildings – the manor house, the grain stores, the house of Artorus and a barracks for the troops – had almost been completed. Homes for the general populace had not even been considered. His train of thought was broken as Richney came up alongside him.
‘You have news of the revolt?’ he asked.
‘Yes, my Lord. I have heard this very morning that Fillebrand has defeated Schurmann’s rebels in an open battle,’
‘Excellent!’ Leontius exclaimed. ‘Perhaps things are improving at last!’
Richney appeared guarded; he was certainly less enthusiastic than the Grand Duke. ‘Maybe, maybe not. There were few prisoners taken and not too many of the rebels killed. Many fled. Rumour has it to the Morrathnay Forest and that is not all. There have been other small uprisings, some against the barons, others led by the barons. Schurmann’s death has inflamed many people; he was a popular man, especially with his peasants who used to enjoy better pay for less work under his tenure.’
‘They would side with him over me then.’ Despondency had returned to Leontius’s voice.
‘I am afraid, my Lord, that they see you as distant and not a little autocratic. Many are blaming you for Schurmann’s death, however unfair that may be.’
‘Indeed.’ Leontius was silent as they all steered their horses along the road skirting the hill. As they did so, they passed woodcutters, stonemasons, carpenters and soldiers, all of whom were employed in shaping both wood and stone before these materials could be driven up the hill and used. Despite the bone-hard ground strewn with patches of hoarfrost, many of these men were bathed in sweat from exertion already and were perfectly happy to stop their labours for a second to salute him as he passed.
Athkaril’s hill was less high and steep than that of Grest and therefore easier to ascend; the road even wound a little as they approached the city walls, passing patches of bare earth and bruised grass as well as the still-blackened foundations of people’s former homes.
Just before passing the gates, Leontius looked to his left. There lay ‘New Athkaril’, the city of refugees. He was told that there were fewer people here than before; many had given up on the place after the riots and left to try their luck elsewhere – either in the sparsely populated lands to the immediate west or further south, making the long journey to Tanaren City, where use might be found for whatever skills they possessed. Both options held risk in abundance; starvation and cold could be punishing on bodies already weakened by privation, with the young and the old being particularly vulnerable. Those that lacked either the courage or physical ability to leave stayed here in the long sprawl of tiny wooden shacks. Fenchard had burned the place, but it had been rebuilt soon enough. And, though many had left, others had joined it.
‘That place,’ Leontius said airily, to no one in particular, ‘it cannot stay as it is. We are supplying barley handouts that are eating into our own supplies, and disease, if it comes there, will affect us just as much as them.’
‘But what do you suggest, my Lord?’ Duneck enquired. ‘They are thousands of people with nowhere to go.’
‘Fenchard has been clever. He left them there knowing the problems they would cause. Allow five hundred to stay – they can repopulate the city; we can allow them to build their homes within the walls. The rest must leave. The ones to stay should be the fittest and healthiest if Athkaril is to grow strong again. ‘
‘But, my Lord, to evict all those people would surely be to cause rioting again. We could...’
‘Do you think this is easy for me!’ Leontius thundered at the other man, his mask of cool detachment now evaporating before the onlookers’ very eyes. ‘These are my people! I have sworn an oath to the Gods to defend them, not cast them loose in the middle of winter! Cooper, can we provide five days of barley rations for those that leave?’
‘It will be difficult, my Lord, but we can spare it if that is what you will.’
‘It is. Also a flask of water and transport. Get the waggoners to build some carts for them; nothing special, just something serviceable. Scour the land for any old ass or donkey or mare on its last legs to pull them; at least they can be eaten if they die... And Cooper...’
‘My Lord?’
‘Send out riders with a proclamation before them. These people are not to be denied food or the right to settle wherever else they so wish. Those that disobey will have to face me. Understood?’
‘Perfectly, my Lord.’
‘Good.’ Leontius calmed down a little. ‘Many will die but at least they have a chance. And Duneck...’
‘My Lord?’ Duneck had been silently shaking his head at this. He had thought he was out of the Grand Duke’s line of sight but Leontius had caught him when he turned his head unexpectedly.
‘You are right about the riots. Take fifteen hundred men with you when you announce things to them. And be as sympathetic as you can. Tell them cold and disease will kill them if they remain.’
Duneck’s face fell like a stone. ‘As you wish, my Lord.’
‘Wait for Cooper to organise the food and wagons. Tell them the morning after; it will be easier if they have only just emerged from sleep.’
They entered the city, which was dominated by the new manor house, two storeys high, constructed in wood and stone, with a view that overlooked the river and the fields and copses beyond – the territory of the enemy. This is what he wanted to see.
They dismounted and walked through the newly hung great doors, past an army of artisans working like ants and just as numerous. Although much of the internal building was still a shell, the stairs were there and the apertures for the windows around which the glaziers were fussing, measuring and planning. As soon as he had seen the state of the place, Leontius had sent for many of these craftsmen straight from Tanaren City – at a considerable expense to his already-shallow coffers. At this moment, however, money was about two hundred and forty-third on his list of priorities.
He stared out of the empty window. It was a tranquil scene, the Kada running serenely southwards through a landscape of bare frost-rimed fields dotted with copses devoid of leaves. To the north, it was greener – hills clothed in pines rising ever upwards to the great aloof buttresses of the Derannens, their peaks sheathed in cloud and snow. Just beneath him the new bridge had been completed, a more solid construction than before with high stone towers at each corner permanently garrisoned.
‘Look there.’ Richney pointed directly eastward.
Leontius followed his finger. There, in the near distance, were twenty or thirty men on horse, silently watching, making no aggressive move, just watching. He saw the banner, no doubt held aloft deliberately – it was the blue-and-yellow banner of Fenchard’s new country, an ersatz country, one inside his own, a deliberate provocation to his authority.
‘They are there again, taunting me, laughing at me.’ Leontius ground his jaw in his frustration.
‘They have been turning up every day for a couple of weeks now,’ Cooper told him. ‘It is nothing new.’
‘They have not only usurped me here; they are getting cocky with it. Richney, you fancy yourself a general, don’t you?’
‘Well, I would not be quite so presumptuous, my Lord...’
‘Nonsense, this is just the time for it. Take two thousand men over the river and take the battle to them. No open engagements, just skirmishes, take some Silver Lances, too. It is time to start making them think about us, rather than the other way round. And Richney, for Artorus’s sake, listen to your generals this time; I want no humiliations when you return.’
‘I will depart as soon as I can, my Lord.’
‘Now, all of you,’ – he turned from the window to face the others – ‘I have had a letter from the Protector of Felmere. His name is Morgan and he says he has a force of some thousands waiting for my word to attack Tetha Vinoye
n. I have sent a letter back to say that, because of the current problems, he will have to sit there till spring. But’ – he spoke slowly, enunciating every word – ‘we should still do what we can to help him, whether he be a peasant or no. So, Richney, get as close to Tetha Vinoyen as you can, scout out the land, see what the defences are like. When you return, report to Cooper, who will take another party out some days later. Keep our enemies on their toes; I want as much information as I can for our attack in spring.’
Richney looked at Leontius slyly. ‘This protectorship, you can override Lukas Felmere’s appointments, can’t you?’
‘I can, if I am so inclined.’
‘Do you not think it should be a noble ruling over these lands, perhaps one who distinguishes himself in battle?’
‘Don’t be so ambitious, Richney. I do not want to hear of foolhardy attacks and the needless sacrifice of our men. Do as I command, though, and I can always think upon what you have asked.’
Richney smiled at him. ‘As you wish, my Lord, that is exactly what I shall do.’
‘Good, I can ill afford more disasters, especially as I will be leaving here tomorrow.’
‘Leaving here, my Lord?’ Duneck and Richney spoke in unison.
‘Yes, I am returning to Tanaren and then visiting the heart of my country. If the peasants see me as distant, then I shall try talking to them. If the lands around the capital turn on me wholesale, then the entire country is lost.’
Richney was incredulous. ‘A grand duke does not talk to peasants!’
‘What am I supposed to do? If things continue as they are, I will not be Grand Duke for much longer anyway. And I have no heir. If I am deposed, the civil war that will follow will make what we have at the moment look like two children fighting over a bowl of sweets. I will return as soon as I can.’
‘My Lord, if you were to marry, that may help things considerably.’
Leontius smirked. ‘I have someone in mind. When I come back from Tanaren I may be bringing good news with me as far as that is concerned.’
They left the house and returned to their horses. As yet, the news from Osperitsan had still to reach them. If it had, then Leontius’s melancholic state of mind might have been a thousand times worse.
32
Hundreds of miles away, the object of his ardour had finished her ride. She was at the selfsame brake of trees where she and Jon Skellar had rested all that time ago, before she had ridden on alone and discovered the ship of the black priests for the first time. She set the horse free; even-tempered or no it seemed to be getting distressed by being close to her, so she jumped off and said to her softly, ‘Go home.’ She then watched, standing still as a statue, as the creature half trotted, half galloped, back the way she came.
She was alone here. She could not even hear any birds, just the sea clashing against the rocks nearby. In the other direction away from the sea was a country of rough grass and low hills and it was towards this that she now walked. Some half a mile inland she passed one of these small hills to find herself in a broad shallow dell dotted with furze and spiny bushes. As she walked into it, she checked behind her. She was now completely obscured from the road. It was just what she wanted.
She found a comfortable spot on a thick tussock of grass and weed and sat down. She noticed small patches of snow lying around and about and for the first time realised that she was not cold. Dismissing such thoughts, Ceriana shut her eyes and allowed her mind to roam free. Pictures, flashbacks had been coming to her as she rode, but she forced herself to ignore them, to concentrate on the road ahead. Now, though, it was time. She reached out and accepted the strange unbidden images that drifted her way.
She saw the city under the mountain again – the river running past the strange, square, blocky buildings, the dust and the bizarre squat statues of men, or something approximating men, that stood around the wide pool into which the waterfall emptied. Light still filtered through shafts in the cave roof, but she could see quite well enough even without them.
And then came the connection, the touching of two minds irrevocably alien to each other and yet somehow connected; understanding each other’s motives and desires. But there was something new that Ceriana had only partially noticed before. Two minds maybe but one was ever the dominant over the other. She felt the creature calling to her, asking what it was that it, no, she, could do for her. She hesitated for a second – what exactly did she want of the creature?
‘Come to me,’ she breathed softly, finally.
There was an immediate response. A long jet of flame, a spray of incandescence, shot forth. White, blue and orange were its colours as it sped skyward in a place with no sky and its edges shimmered with the heat, the haze blurring the buildings she could see beyond it. And then it roared, a deep subterranean rumble like an avalanche on distant slopes that gradually came nearer and nearer until the very ground shook and dust and rock fell about her, fit to cause lungs to choke, filling as they were with its impenetrable cloud. She heard the powerful beating of wings flexed for only the second time in aeons.
‘Come to me!’ she said again.
And the great beast was flying. Up it flew towards the cave ceiling, to the largest of the shafts of pale light that told of a world outside that it could not remember entering. There was rock about it as it entered the shaft, which itself was barely wide enough to accommodate the impossible span of the creature’s wings. Ceriana felt what the creature felt; her creature; her sister – for were they even separate anymore? And she felt the wind, the brittle, icy wind hitting her face, and she exulted in the feeling – she had never felt more vibrant, more vital, more alive.
And then she saw why the light in the cave had such a pale, ghostly quality. The head of the shaft was blocked by snow. Harder did she beat her wings, the great downdraughts echoing on the cold stone, a thumping cacophony fit to stun sensitive ears. Her speed increased along with her excitement as this great plug of snow, the only obstruction between her and whatever lay beyond it, was finally reached.
And at last, in a fountain of wet ice and snow scattered hundreds of feet into the naked sky, the creature was born into this world. High on a virgin mountain side, pristine and silent, did she emerge, a gout of exultant flame marking her joy at her ascendancy. And she was not alone, for behind her emerged dozens of smaller creatures, lesser than her but greater than most other beings on this earth. And these drakes were different from her, with the tiniest of forelegs and thinner, more snake-like bodies, and where she roared they screeched, a piercing terrible noise as they followed in their mistress’s wake. She sped from one mountain to the next, above the clouds and beyond the sight of man; ahead and an impossible distance below, a glittering sea – looking as though it were studded with a thousand scattered white gems – stretched out before her and, unerringly, this was where she headed. For this world may have been new to her but she had her destination; and she homed in on it as a beacon, getting ever closer to its source; the words, those barely audible words. ‘Come to me.’ For the first time in over a millennia of war and conflict a dragon of fire was born into this world and even the mountains trembled at her passing.
And Ceriana lay down and slept, tired with her ride and feverish in her excitement. What have I done? she wondered as she drifted into her singular dream. Its wing beats, heavy, slow and rhythmic, added to her torpor as she nuzzled into the grass as though it were a feather bed. She still did not feel the cold. As she dreamed, the sun started to sink in the western sky until finally it disappeared in a great flare of burnt orange that seemed to set the very seas on fire.
Night had arrived. Ceriana finally came to again. A light dusting of frost coated the dell and the moisture of her breath almost mirrored the dragon’s flame in its intensity. Curious she held her right hand in front of her face. Her glove was still on. She started to pull it off, finger by finger, a thrill of fear running over her skin, dancing over her taut nerves. At last the glove was free and she beheld her delic
ate little hand.
It was as though a light more powerful than any man could create was shining directly through her skin. Her hand glowed, a sanguine, ambient radiance through which she could see a delicate web of fine veins that to her almost replicated the branches of some great tree. She knelt and put her hand over the stiff white grass, almost but not quite touching it. She watched as the frost dissolved into water in parts, both horrified and curious at what she could now do.
‘You expected this,’ she whispered, trying to calm herself down, to slow her heart which was thumping ever the faster within her thin frame. ‘You expected this!’ she said again, replacing her glove and covering her face with the hood as if, by shrouding herself entirely, she could keep the truth at bay. The truth that she still would not admit to herself – that she was no longer entirely human. Was she one of Keth’s demons now? She was almost as they were depicted on the paintings and tapestries in every holy house she had ever visited, a creature of nascent flame bent on the destruction of man. No, not man in its entirety, just a select few – that was what she wanted. Perhaps she was different then; perhaps she was something new, something unique. She did not feel comforted by this thought.
She started to walk a little to stretch her stiff legs, pacing back and forth over the unyielding ground. Suddenly, though, she froze and looked above her. What should have been a night sky with its low cloud allowing only the most fitful starlight was in fact now something else. A shadow. As she watched open-mouthed, she saw it – a shape more massive than she had ever imagined was crossing the heavens above her, silhouetted against the pallid, cloud-streaked moon.
And heading directly her way.
What filled her with awe more than anything was not the bulk of the thing but its agility. It moved with a lithe sinuous grace that she had not thought possible in such a creature; it reminded her of hot summers in Erskon House when she used to watch grass snakes sunning themselves in the wild borders close to the ornamental lake. If she walked with too heavy a tread towards them, they would disappear in a trice, coiling and slithering with a liquid fluidity as they sought sanctuary in the undergrowth. A distant memory, and one never recalled until now.
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