Eastward Dragons

by Andrew Linke

  Altogether, the assembled party represented an effective cross section of the Commonwealth power structure and King Berech was moderately certain that they would prove to be worthy representatives, without bringing unnecessary harm to the nation if they were welcomed in the Dragon Kingdoms by torturers instead of diplomats. There was only one aspect of the Commonwealth, a single secret that was known by all of those around the table, which the king truly worried about being revealed if the party were to come to harm at the hands of the Dragon Lords. And that was why Berech had seen to it that his bastard sister was assigned to the expedition.

  King Berech rapped on the table with the heel of his knife and waited patiently as the conversations rapidly came to a halt and all eyes in the room focused on him. He rose and whispered over his shoulder to the nameless servant he knew would be waiting. The servant hurried from the room as King Berech of the Trader Commonwealth drew himself up to his full height and surveyed the delegation.

  “Noble men and women, I thank you for joining us on this momentous occasion. Soon you will embark upon an expedition to lands that have been inaccessible to the Commonwealth since before our grandfathers were born. We thank you for your bravery. For your dedication to the cause of trade. For your pledge to represent the best ideals of the Commonwealth to those whose culture, morals, and very gods may be as different from our own as can be imagined. We ask you to now raise a glass in toast to the success of your upcoming expedition.”

  The delegates lifted their glasses and raised them towards King Berech. “To success,” rumbled Jarom.

  King Berech and all of the delegates drank deeply from their glasses, except for Havil, who merely sipped at his. There palace servants hovering behind each chair had refilled each wineglass twice, three times for some, in the course of the noon meal, except for the glass of Havil.

  The servant who had hurried from the room returned bearing a small wooden box and stood beside the king’s chair, waiting.

  “Master Ralva, we have a special gift for you to cary with you on your expedition.” Berech took the box from his servant and delicately placed it on the table in front of him. “We had this specially crafted for you under the supervision of our own Tracha Runsen.” The king nodded to Tracha, who raised his glass in salute and settled back in his chair to watch the presentation. “If you have any doubt to the significance of the gift within, ask your colleague. Even for an artificer of his renown, this required a significant degree of effort and no small expenditure of expensive components.”

  Berech pushed the box towards Oppen Ralva, who leaned forward and pulled it closer to him. The box was crafted from a heavy wood, stained dark brown and inlayed with chips of sapphire in the shape of the Commonwealth seal. There were no visible hinges, so Oppen gripped the lid at the corners and carefully lifted it straight up. At first it resisted, the inexplicably heavy box seeming to pull back against Oppen’s efforts, then the lid slipped smoothly upwards, revealing the precious contents. A soft blue light spilled out across the table, accompanied by a weird, glowing mist that seemed to crackle with countless minuscule, continually shifting branches of lightning.

  Zlata gasped and nearly upset her wineglass in her eagerness to lean forward and catch a glimpse of the rare artifice, while Biho’s eyes bulged out so prominently that Berech suspected that would have fallen from his head had pride not kept his eyelids fixed half closed. King Berech exchanged a respectful nod with Tracha, both of the men satisfied with the result of their collaboration.

  “Is that a balance gate?” Havil asked, leaning forward himself and sipping absently at his wineglass, his usual restraint shattered by the appearance of such a rare object.

  “Indeed it is,” Oppen replied, setting the lid on the table and staring in wonder at the contents of the box. The balance gate was dilated to the width of two fingers so that the unstable boundary of raw anima that formed its edge did not touch any of the sides of the box itself. Beneath the crackling gateway, the cut ring of ultra dense alloy, scribed with the linking runes to create and sustain the balance gateway, was held in place at the center of the box by four thin rods of gleaming steel, which rose up from a heavy steel baseplate set into the bottom of the box.

  “Take care of that, Oppen Ralva,” King Berech said, settled back into his seat. “Not only was it terrifically expensive to manufacture, but even a translator such as you is aware of the danger that is presented in carrying a balance gateway into unknown territory.”

  “I am, my Lord,” Oppen said. “I thank you for entrusting me with this most delicate and powerful gift. Is there a particular purpose which you have in mind for the device?”

  “Communication, master Ralva.”

  “Would it not be safer to communicate through sympathetic paper?” Havil interjected.

  “I agree,” Biho said. By now his eyes had returned to their sockets, though his face was flushed a deeper red than could be accounted for by the wine he had drunk. “Balance gateways are dangerous, your majesty. That is why you predecessors so strongly regulated their use for trade.”

  King Berech shook his head. “Sympathy paper is limited, and bulky. You will be gone for upwards of a year, assuming that you do not face any unexpected delays along your journey. While you will certainly carry a supply of sympathy paper with you, we would prefer to have a means of contacting the expedition that does not depend upon the vagaries of the rune web. We have consulted with the best rune scholars from all of the guilds, as Master Erdenech knows, and none are able to provide definitive maps of the rune web for more than a hundred miles east of the Rainbow Falls.”

  “It still strikes me as dangerous to carry a balance gate so far into unknown territory, especially if your majesty intends to sit at the far end to maintain communication with master Ralva. What if the party were to encounter a dangerous gas, or a swarm of stinging insects?”

  Tracha sat up straight and cleared his throat. At a nod from the king, he said, “I assure you, master Erdenech, that King Berech, the royal guard, and I have worked out mutually acceptable terms. The gateway is dangerous, certainly, but we have ensured that sufficient protections exist to prevent just the sort of disaster that you describe.”

  Biho opened his mouth to continue his protests, but King Berech raised his right hand out over the table, calling for silence. He looked at each of the ambassadors in turn, then finally to the belligerent guild master, before saying, “Most respectable lady and worthy gentlemen, the expedition to the Dragon Kingdoms will not be without peril. It is our hope that the risk of harm to each member of the expedition will be significantly lessened by the inclusion of three notable personages in your party.”

  King Berech nodded to the servant who hovered at his left shoulder and the man hurried off to the single doorway that granted access to the private dining room. He paused with his hand on the door latch, knowing from years of experience that his king would appreciate a timely and theatrical entrance from his special guests.

  ⫛

  “So, you must be the legendary Rajin. Not many men get by trading on a mononym, but I don’t think there is a person of noble birth in the entirety of the Commonwealth who is ignorant of your name.”

  Rajin opened his eyes and found himself sitting face to face with a young woman. Her deep eyes bored into his own with an unflinching resolve, set into a face that was tall and angular, but not unattractive. Neatly combed brown hair fell to her shoulders which, judging by the sinewy muscles that showed beneath the tanned skin of her bare arms, he supposed to be at least as strong as those of any fighting man he had ever encountered. She wore a simple leather jerkin, woven linen britches, and laced boots, all tanned light brown and stained with hard use.

  Neasa’s right eyebrow pulled up quizzically as she said, “I had to see with my own eyes. The heretic Rajin, returned from his exile, and with news of a safe passage between the Commonwealth and the draconic lands that we had all thought lost more than a hundred years ago.”

  “I
t is as you say.”

  “Which leaves open the question of what is in this for you.”

  “I might ask you the same, especially since I do not know who you are. Although I must intuit that you are a woman of considerable rank to have passed the guards posted at my door, and perhaps even greater talent to have entered my chambers without disturbing my meditations.” Rajin glanced away from Neasa and to the small potted palm tree that sat on the floor in front of him. A tingling sensation crept down his spine as he recalled the sensation of the wind rustling the leaves. That, he decided, must have been the movement of air as this woman entered the room. He would have to redouble his efforts if such an obvious detail had passed unnoticed. Still, Rajin consoled himself, this was a strange plant imported to Tal Albahi and set in the palace for decoration, not one of his old familiar birches or oaks from the distant Shamteil forests.

  “I am Neasa Veatro, bastard daughter of King Tybald.”

  Rajin looked back up at the woman and studied her face. Yes, there was some resemblance to the face of the king who had sentenced him to death so long ago, and the one who had recently issued him a highly conditional pardon. Something in the turn of the nose and the set of the eyes.

  “So tell me, Rajin the heretic, why should I trust you with my life?”

  “You needn’t,” Rajin said. He pushed himself upright and looked down at Neasa, evaluating her. Then he spotted the runes of service tattooed on her left bicep. Several of them appeared freshly done, and told a surprising tale, while the other, older runes enacted the terms of Neasa’s contract. He traced them up to where they disappeared beneath the shoulder of her jerkin, then looked more carefully at her throat. Yes, just visible above the collar, more runes of binding marked in her flesh. “Unless this encounter is your way of introducing yourself as a traveling companion.”

  “You might say that,” Neasa replied. She stood as well and extended her left hand in greeting. “I am to travel with your company and ensure that King Berech’s orders are promptly and adequately carried out.”

  “Ahh,” Rajin breathed, ignoring her upturned palm. “I should not be surprised that the king would order a minder sent along, but I must confess that I am surprised that he would choose one such as you.”

  Rajin turned his back on Neasa and stepped to the side table where he had laid his shirt and britches, both of plain, serviceable cotton cloth, and began to dress. His own marks of service and binding stood out in subtly shifting greens and blues beneath the skin of his back and sides.

  “A woman?” Neasa snapped, withdrawing her hand. Women had served with distinction in the Commonwealth military for three generations, and had managed some of the original trading guilds that came together to form the nation, but in recent years men had come to dominate the ranks of the army.

  “No. A woman’s blood runs as thick as that of any man. I am surprised that the king would permit his sister to join such a perilous expedition.”

  Neasa laughed bitterly and stepped forward to stand beside Rajin at the table. She lay an hand on his freshly clothed shoulder and said, “Believe me, heretic, you are not the only black sheep traveling to the Dragon Kingdoms. I am only half-sister to the king, and I have no doubt that he would trade me to the Dragon Lords in a heartbeat if it would open up a safe trade route.”

  Rajin’s eyes narrowed and flicked from her face to the hand that gripped his shoulder. His eyebrows rose, then he squinted as if reading the faint traceries of runes that were tattooed into the flesh of Neasa’s left hand. She felt him shudder beneath her touch, then he steeled himself and looked back to her, a patently false smile spreading across his face, leaving the weathered skin around his eyes to sag hollowly. “I believe we will be able to work together then.”

  Neasa grinned and slapped him on the upper arm, withdrawing her marked hand. “Most excellent. Now, my brother has summoned us to attend him at lunch. I believe that he intends to show us off to the ambassadors we shall be protecting on this expedition. Have you eaten yet?”

  “Sufficiently.”

  “You are truly one for cryptic answers, heretic. Let us go then.”

  “I would appreciate it if you would not refer to me as heretic,” Rajin said.

  Neasa shrugged, wincing as she did so. “What would you have me call you then? You have no rank. To my knowledge, your position in the expedition is that of wild lands guide. I am faithful to the Wandering Path and I find your heretical, murderous ways repulsive. ”

  “Your devotion is commendable, but I assure you that there is more to me than the difference in our faiths.”

  “Perhaps you will prove that along the road. Until then, you are little more than a heretic to me.” Neasa raised her eyes, daring Rajin to challenge her. She might not have been the most devoted follower of the Wanderer, but she attended rites on most weeks and certainly held true to the tenants of her faith, most of the time. Whatever her personal failings in that regard, she had certainly never committed any of the mortal sins of which this man had been convicted.

  “If that is to be the nature of our relationship, so be it. Lead on, fair bastard. Take me to the king.”

  That was fair enough, Neasa thought. Despite this man’s unspeakable crimes, he seemed to be possessed of a spirit of calm that she had rarely encountered outside of a sanctuary, or a particularly still library.

  Neasa strode to the door of the apartment and pounded on the heavy wood. “Open up. We are ready to go.”

  The door swung into the room and two royal guards in sleek white dreamforged plate armor faced Neasa, hands gripping the hilts of their swords. Their eyes flitted across the room, settled in Rajin for a moment, then returned to Neasa. One of them nodded and turned to walk away down the corridor as the other stepped to the side and motioned for Neasa to pass. “If you would please go ahead, Di-Neasa. The prisoner will walk with you and I will be at the rear.”

  “So it’s prisoner again?” Rajin asked, coming up to the door. “And here I thought that I was an honored guest in the palace.”

  The guard pointedly ignored Rajin’s jab and instead waved down the corridor to where the first guard now stood waiting.

  Neasa and Rajin stepped into the corridor and, lead by the foremost guard, walked in silence through the corridors of the castle. A mere ten minutes brought them to the antechamber outside the royal dining terrace. It was a tight space, designed as much to form a choke point where two or three guards could hold off a larger force of attackers as it was to provide a comfortable area for visiting dignitaries to wait until they were granted entrance to the dining room. The doors at either end were crafted of thick oak planks, banded together and surreptitiously reinforced by curling swaths of ironwork, which formed the starkly sketched outline of a cargo ship with billowing sails. There they found Sunil Diventru, an officer in the royal guard who Neasa recognized from her days living in the palace as a child and her brief period of service in the New Tower, waiting on a padded bench beside the inner door.

  Sunil was a man of nearly six feet with light brown skin and flat, dead eyes. In his years of service he had seen everything that he imagined possible in a royal palace, and some of those experiences accounted for the prematurely white hair that he wore cropped close to his head. He was dressed in the formal uniform of an officer of the royal guard: a high-collared tan shirt of stiff linen and matching trousers, with a narrow white sash embroidered with his insignia of rank and service decorations slanting across his chest from his right shoulder. Though he was seated, he was in no way relaxed or slovenly. His back was straight. His eyes looked directly ahead, except for brief flickers to one side or another as he repeatedly checked the room for potential threats. He was, Neasa thought, the consummate image of a dedicated officer of the royal guard.

  Which was one reason they had never been on good terms.

  “Sir Diventru,” Neasa said, nodding her head in acknowledgement as they approached.

  Sunil turned his head, keeping his shoulders complet
ely still as he did so, and nodded to the new arrivals. “Neasa Veatro. Kelven told me that you were to accompany us on this expedition. He said that your new contract contained some… interesting runes. I trust that you are as troublesome as always.”

  “I am. And I trust that you are as stiff as always.”

  “Undoubtedly. Fortunately for both of us I have been informed that, while not released from your term of service, you have been removed from the standard command structure and assigned to report solely to the king.”

  “That’s what the new runes say,” Neasa said. At the reminder, the swollen skin on her left shoulder and back began to itch again. She tried to ignore it, saying, “King Berech thought it wise to have a member of the expedition who was beholden only to him.”

  “Do you question my vows?”

  “Certainly not. I merely state the reason I was given for my inclusion in the delegation.”

  Rajin chuckled and shook his head, looking from Neasa to Sunil, then to the two guards who had taken up their positions at the exit to the antechamber, across from those guarding the entrance to the banquet terrace.