Gron gulped loudly. He nodded.
Skera-Kina left the threat hanging in the air. She knew that she didn’t need to finish the sentence. Gron knew perfectly well that to betray her would mean death, and he wouldn’t get a second chance next time.
“When would you like me to begin, Mistress?” Gron asked.
Skera-Kina went to the window and looked out over the city. “Begin now. And have someone bring me the Brighthollow Scroll from the temple library.”
“Yes, High Priestess,” Gron said, running outside quickly to call a library messenger.
There were so many things to do, but the treaty was her top priority. The elf queen could take back what she had given her all too easily. Skera-Kina needed to read the treaty and to understand it completely. As long as she followed the terms of the pact, she would be free to rule as she wished. She could now bring someone’s life to an end simply by ordering it; no longer was she forced to go out and do the killing herself. Where Skera-Kina was once a blood soaked hammer, she was now the arm that did the swinging.
She went over to the desk where Gron was organizing the stacks by date; she could already tell that he would be a good addition to her inner circle. “I’m going to my quarters, and I’ll be back at sunset. Have your first report ready for me by then.”
The apprentice bowed. “As you command, Your Grace.”
She walked past the set of huge doors which opened into her new sleeping chambers. She frowned and looked around the room; the huge tapestry, the gaudy decorations—it was all too much. “It’s time to redecorate, I think.” She tore the garish tapestries from the walls, depositing them into a heap on the floor. Her servants would take them away later. She could finally see the stained glass windows, which had been covered up. She opened one of them, and a burst of wind entered the stuffy room. She inhaled deeply to enjoy the fresh air. Bright light streamed in through the windows, throwing a kaleidoscope of color against the walls.
She yanked the silk sheets and feather down pillows off the huge bed, throwing them into the corner with the tapestries. She would replace them later with cotton sheets and simple wool blankets. The last High Priest had been paranoid and self-obsessed. Skera-Kina was different. The time for change had come. She would see to that.
The people still needed to be kept in line, the yearly sacrifices still needed to be made, and the death gods still needed their due, but Skera-Kina was smart enough to know what was really important. She would appoint her councilors and learn how to rule. All the rest of it—the boring, day to day business of running a society—was simply a distraction. Skera-Kina had been trained for battle, not politics. She could see the path of her life stretching before her, and her mission was clear: she would be the one who would return Balbor to its former glory.
She did not fear death. She had felt its darkened shores. She had been there, on the very edge and had felt her life ebbing away. The elf queen had saved her, not the High Priest or her own magic. This made her believe that her new leadership role was all part of the prophesy—the prophesy which declared that the Balborites would rise to power once again and that they would become so great that no one would dare to oppose them.
She just had to figure a way to do make it happen without dragons.
Skera-Kina touched the black key embedded in her flesh. She knew the truth of her own ancestry. She would not have to worry about death’s embrace for a long time to come, so she had plenty of time to plan.
Skera-Kina hadn’t made her mind up yet about what to do with the countless slaves, the brutal structure of Balborite life, or the endless killing that was the focus of their existence. Changing a whole society was a project that might take generations. But Skera-Kina had the time in which to make those changes. She sat down on the stripped bed and yawned. Minutes later, she was asleep.
She awoke after several hours and noticed that servants had removed the discarded tapestries and bedding. The room had been cleaned, and the doors and windows had been closed again. She rubbed her eyes and went back into the throne room. The apprentice was still in the same position, going through the stacks of paper. He had a steaming mug of tea and a half-eaten sandwich next to him.
“Are you ready to tell me what is happening yet?” Skera-Kina said.
The young man looked up, startled. “Yes, Your Grace. I have gathered some information. There are a few spy reports, many requests, and several private letters. Most of the correspondence is from the priests or from freeborn citizens, but a few are from the mainland. I separated those out. Most of the requests are already outdated, and can probably be ignored. It seems that the former High Priest usually paid them no mind.”
“What types of requests are these?”
“Most of them are assassination requests. There is a request here to have the leader of a small village killed,” the apprentice said. “The man is suspected of stealing livestock. The sender has offered to pay fifty gold coins as a bounty.”
Skera-Kina waved her hand dismissively. “I’m not going to use my assassins to settle petty local squabbles. The citizens must learn how to work out those differences amongst themselves.”
Skera-Kina remembered too much of her own upbringing, where the violence had been constant and senseless. As a slave, she had no choices. Even as an apprentice, she had to kill or be killed. When she became one of the Blood Masters, she also became an instrument of the priests, who sent her to kill anyone they desired. Skera-Kina’s vision for the future included killing—but only when it made sense.
“What else?” Skera-Kina asked.
“There are several letters from Druknor, the governor of Sut-Burr. He says that his prices on future shipments of slaves will rise. He’s under closer scrutiny from the dragon riders, and it’s becoming more difficult for him to transport them.”
Skera-Kina inhaled deeply.
Druknor Theoric.
In all the excitement since she had become High Priestess, Skera-Kina had managed to forget about Druknor. More than anyone else, it was Druknor that had doomed her to this life of servitude and violence. Her fists clenched involuntarily. If he had been in the room in that instant, Skera-Kina would have killed him without a second thought.
“Your Grace? Do you wish to reply to this message?”
Skera-Kina gave her assistant a cat-like smile. “Oh, yes… there will be a reply.”
“What do you wish to say? I could compose it for you. I’ve completed my scribal training.”
She paused for a moment. She hadn’t been able to act of her own volition before. Of course, there were so many things that needed to be arranged here on Balbor. There’s so much work to do here…. But the memory of Druknor’s sneering face gnawed at her—there were some things that couldn’t be forgiven.
Of course, she was the High Priestess now; she could simply send someone else to kill him. She had hundreds of assassins at her disposal, but it just wouldn’t feel the same.
Skera-Kina shook her head. “I prefer to deal with Druknor myself… in person. I’ll go to the mainland.”
The apprentice didn’t seem surprised and merely nodded. “Would you like me to prepare supplies for your journey, Mistress?”
Skera-Kina smiled. “Yes, prepare my bags. I need a fast horse, and send word to the shipmaster. I’ll need a small clipper waiting for me on the coast. I’ll leave tonight.”
“As you wish, Mistress,” he stood up and bowed again. “Is there anything in particular that you need for your journey?”
“Pack my things for the cold,” Skera-Kina said. “I’ve got one last piece of unfinished business.”
14. Bad Blood
Tallin stood between Shesha and Kathir, but there was a part of him that wondered why he should. The other dragons had turned against the mercenary now and were growling and snapping along with Shesha. Fëanor and Amandila were standing to the side. They wouldn’t i
nterfere.
Delthen and Komu stepped away from the fight with surprised expressions. Druknor also watched from the sidelines, but he was smiling.
“Kathir is a dragon killer,” Duskeye said.
“He deserves to die!” Shesha screamed as she lunged for Kathir again. Tallin stopped her with a magical shield, but the other dragons didn’t move to assist him. They clearly agreed with Shesha’s assessment.
Elias stepped forward to help Tallin. “Kathir is a changed man. Please, everyone calm down.”
“Calm down? Calm down? After what he has done? He doesn't deserve to live.” Shesha said. “He killed my hatchlings!”
“Please, Shesha,” Tallin said. “Things have changed since the war.”
“He’s a murderer!” Shesha roared. “I don’t care what you say, I’ll kill him!” She spat a river of flame in Kathir’s direction. Tallin’s shield blocked it once again, but he could feel the searing heat on his face and arms. He was starting to get tired.
The other dragons were larger than Shesha, but Blacktooth and Nydeired didn’t seem interested in acting against her. Nagendra looked ready to pounce on Kathir herself. Either they needed to find a way to calm Shesha down, or Kathir needed to leave—and fast.
“Stand down, Shesha,” said Sela, jumping into the fray. “You’re not going to kill Kathir. I cannot allow cold-blooded murder.”
“He killed my hatchlings! Will you allow this murderer to go free?” Shesha demanded.
Tallin and Sela exchanged nervous glances. Tensions were getting worse.
Komu coughed. “In my day,” he said, “an accused man was given a proper trial, not an immediate execution.”
“He’s openly admitted it, though,” Delthen said. “Kathir was a dragon hunter.”
“I suppose his confession should carry some weight at trial,” Komu replied, “But that’s no reason not to have one. People are entitled to a fair hearing when they are accused of a crime, you know. It’s in the books.”
“But he’s not a citizen of Miklagard,” Delthen pointed out. “He’s just a mercenary, remember.”
“Really?” Komu said. “But you claimed him as one of ours, or have you forgotten that? I have a very good memory for these types of things, you know. Besides, he’s been very loyal to us.”
“Don’t be absurd,” said Delthen. “He’s a mercenary. What he does, he does for money.”
Again, Komu coughed. “Even so, it isn’t fair. We could take a vote—there’s plenty of important people here, after all. Sela is the regent of Parthos. There are two clan leaders present, two elves, and the governor of Sut-Burr. We should at least discuss things, don’t you agree?”
“Komu’s right. We’re all in this together,” Tallin said. He turned to Shesha. “Shesha, what do you remember? Tell us your side of the story first.”
The carnelian dragon finally stopped pacing and sat back on her haunches. She glared at Kathir. “What is there to say? I left my nest to hunt. When I came back, I found dragon hunters slaying my clutch. There were a dozen men inside my cave. I killed two, but most of them escaped. This one…” she pointed a claw at Kathir, “this one was their leader. I’ll never forget that face.”
Tallin repeated Shesha’s words in the common language for those who didn’t understand dragon tongue.
Sela nodded. “Thank you, Shesha. And you, Kathir? What do you have to say for yourself?”
The mercenary stood in the middle of the camp. He hung his head and sighed. “There is nothing I can say. She isn’t lying. I did it. I served the emperor during the war. I hunted dragons, as I was ordered to do. I don’t know for sure if it was her hatchlings that I killed, or those of another mother elsewhere, but it doesn’t really matter. I am guilty either way.” He sat down and waited.
At first Tallin thought that the human sounded like he wanted to die, but then he realized that he was actually just so filled remorse that it almost amounted to the same thing.
“So we have the facts of it,” Bolrakei said, speaking up. “It sounds like Skemtun’s little friend deserves everything he’s got comin’ to him.” There was a strange eagerness in her voice—she clearly hated Kathir.
Skemtun cleared his throat and stood up. “I will speak for Kathir. I did not know him when he committed these crimes, but I know him now. He came to Mount Velik as a mercenary, but he’s done many good things since then. He’s saved countless lives. He’s tried to help solve the crisis between the clans, and I know he wasn’t being paid to do that. He’s a different man today. A better man. A man that I’m proud to call my friend.”
Delthen snorted. “But that doesn’t change the past now, does it?”
“No, it doesn’t,” Elias said. He moved to stand beside Kathir. “But I’ve seen the way people treat Kathir. Everywhere he goes, he is despised because of the markings on his face—the markings of a former slave. Employers throw his coins in the dirt. People sneer behind his back or even openly to his face.” He fixed Druknor and Bolrakei with a level stare. “I know this man. He was never cruel to me, not even when he held me captive years ago. He is not an evil man, and I have had the chance to see him do some good things to help the dwarves. He protected them, and they are not even his people.”
“Oh, yes… he’s a true paragon of virtue,” Druknor said, rolling his eyes. His voice dripped with sarcasm.
“There can be no doubt that what Kathir did in the past was terribly wrong,” said Elias. “But he is a good man now, and if we give him the chance, I believe that he will be a better man still.”
Tallin could only wonder what it must have been like to live in slavery… and then he realized that Kathir and his sister Skera-Kina had a lot in common. It was a disconcerting thought.
He spoke quietly, “Would you rob Kathir of the chance to change. Despite what he’s done, I think Kathir deserves a second chance. He’s obviously a changed man. What good would come of killing him now?”
“This is all very touching,” Druknor said, “but I vote that the mercenary dies for his crimes.”
“So do I,” Bolrakei said.
Delthen nodded. “I agree. The dragon hunter must be punished.”
“I vote against,” Elias said.
Sela nodded. “As do I.”
“Obviously, I do too,” Skemtun said.
Amandila tentatively raised her hand in Kathir’s favor.
Fëanor shook his head. “I believe the dragon killer should die for his crimes.”
Kathir shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but this isn’t about any of you. You don’t get to decide.” Kathir walked to stand in front of Shesha, who growled menacingly as he approached.
Kathir dropped to his knees and looked up at her. “I know that you can understand my words,” he said. “You’re the one I’ve wronged. I’m sorry. I wish I could take back the past, but I can’t. I did many things that I’m ashamed of, but I can’t change that now. If you want to kill me, I won’t try to stop you. My life is yours. All I can say is… that if you allow me to live, I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make amends for what I’ve done.”
He knelt there, staring up at Shesha. She reared above him, and for a moment, it looked like the dragon would bite him in half. Shesha stood there, poised to strike, breath going in and out in hot waves. Finally, she whirled away, turning her back on Kathir in disgust.
“Do you need this fleshling for your fight against the orcs”? She asked Tallin.
“Yes,” Tallin said, amazed that the dragon would seek his opinion. Shesha had always been clear that she only tolerated him for Duskeye’s sake.
“Let the fleshling live,” she snarled. “He can do his penance fighting the greenskins.”
15. Return to Mount Velik
The return journey to Mount Velik dragged on, and the weather grew increasingly colder. There was snow on the ground in many p
laces, and it rained often. The horses strained to push ahead, but the terrain became so difficult that it was slow-going all the same.
The group eventually made it to the village of Ironport, a city on the west side of the Orvasse River. There was a bridge outside the city, which the wagons would use to cross the vast river. It was late afternoon when they arrived inside the city. Sela found an inn and they all stopped to rest for the night. The dragons and the elves chose to stay outside the city walls and sleep in the surrounding forest.
When they entered the inn, the owner’s eyes widened until they were as large as saucers; the innkeeper was ecstatic to have so many nobles inside his tiny establishment.
They rested, ate the inn’s simple food, and quietly discussed their plans. At sunset, the majority of the party retired to their rooms to sleep, but Kathir left the inn to acquire more provisions and to explore the city.
Tallin also left the inn; he headed toward the city center but did not bother to explain the purpose of his errand. He was gone for several hours, and when he returned to the inn, he found the place almost entirely empty. Kathir was enjoying a mug of hot cider by himself. Kathir noticed Tallin standing in the doorway and waved him over. “Pull up a chair and sit for a while, dragon rider.”
Tallin responded with a distressed look on his face. “Where are the others?” He paused to hang his wet cloak hung near the fireplace
Kathir shrugged. “Up in their rooms, I suppose. I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to come downstairs and have a little nightcap. Bad news?” he asked, taking a sip from his mug. “You must’ve had a hard day by the way you look.”
Tallin paused for a moment, unsure of how much he should share with the mercenary. Then he sighed. He was unable to keep the bitterness from his voice when he spoke. “I know several Shadow Grid members in this city, so I went out to get some information. Things are bad here. Very bad.” Tallin sat down next to Kathir and ordered a spiced ale for himself.
Kathir's Redemption (Book 6) Page 13
