by N M Zoltack
“Obviously, they cannot do so without assistance,” Garsea said mildly, “and that is where we come in.”
Velasco scoffed and thudded the book he had been reading shut. “Go on then. Speak.”
“Show Garsea some respect,” Ximeno demanded.
“It is all right,” Garsea said. “Velasco wishes he chose another path.”
Velasco shook his head. “I do not know what I wish,” he muttered.
“As don’t a fair number of persons all over Dragoona,” Garsea said. “It is nothing to be ashamed of.”
“You did not come here to tell me this. Get on with it.” Velasco waved his hand. He alone was sitting. Ximeno pulled out the stool opposite Velasco and sat while Garsea remained standing.
“Who is it that you think will ascend to become the Lady of Light and Darkness?” Garsea asked.
Velasco threw up his hands.
Ximeno, though, considered for a moment. “I suppose either of the queens could be.”
Garsea nodded. “The one queen’s mother is another possibility.”
“The princess, if she still lives.”
“Both princesses,” Garsea added.
“The Lis twins still live and breathe yet,” Velasco muttered.
“Indeed.” Garsea nodded and stroked his hairless chin. “Do you think it possible that a peasant girl or woman could be the Lady?”
“Do you hear yourself?” Velasco barked a bitter laugh. “A peasant girl as the Lady? I think not.”
“It is possible,” Ximeno commented. “After all, the dragons are known to act in ways we cannot even begin to comprehend.”
“The dragons are not capable of acting at the moment. If the Lady is to arise, it will be through the Fates, and the Fate of Chaos at that,” Velasco argued.
“Perhaps at first, but then her allegiance will be tethered to either Life and Peace or else Chaos and Death,” Ximeno admitted.
“It is your lack of faith that is preventing us from moving forward,” Garsea said, stalking forward, shaking a finger at Velasco.
“Oh, I doubt that very much,” Velasco said calmly. “With the dragons dead—”
“They are not dead forevermore!”
“Ah, but what if they are? What if we have devoted our lives to nothing more than dusty scrolls, secrets, lies, and rotting bones?”
“Bones do not rot,” Ximeno said lightly.
“You are a disgrace to the Keepers,” Garsea said. “You are, instead, an agent of Chaos yourself, are you not?”
Velasco merely shook his head. “I am not.”
“Are there truly Agents of the Fates walking among us?” Ximeno asked curiously. “I have heard rumors of such, whispers in some of the more recent texts—”
"Yes, when the Keepers began to rewrite what had been lost, focusing too much on their present lives and eras instead of the dragons and their might in the past." Garsea grimaced and rubbed the top of his bald head. "I have never once come across living proof that Agents of the Fates that walk among us, but I suppose they are powerful enough that they could indeed create vassals of their powers."
“Just as the dragons did with their wraiths,” Ximeno said.
“Do you know wraiths have been seen, observed?” Garsea murmured quietly. “And my asking about the Lady is not without reason. I dreamed that a dragon spoke to me concerning her.”
"Ah, yes, because the most loyal among us should be the only one to have visions and all the knowledge and all of that," Velasco said, throwing up his hands. He scraped his chair back against the stone, stood, and marched out of there.
Garsea sighed and left the room himself, returning to his chambers, Ximeno trailing behind him. The moment they entered Garsea’s room, Ximeno sighed wearily.
“You truly are going to leave. I thought that merely a jest.”
“I must do as I must,” Garsea said simply.
“Send me,” Ximeno suggested.
“No, my dear friend. No. I must go.”
“But…”
“My age will not hinder me.”
Ximeno hung his head and would not meet Garsea's gaze. "It is only… Out of the three of us, you were the only one to be tempted by… outsiders."
“Because I brought the lost Princess of Tenoch Proper here to stay with us for a time?”
“Not just that.”
“Because I loved a woman and married her.”
Garsea closed his eyes, and the lovely vision of a striking beauty with long, straight black hair that reached her elbows, striking gray eyes, and pale skin came to him. He had loved Yan Zhou as fiercely as he had his duty to the dragons. He had never wavered in his commitment to being a Keeper.
And yet, Ximeno was suggesting just that.
“I am old,” Garsea said wearily. He resumed packing a few more items before adding, “I will not have time for any comforts, not of the flesh or the mind or the heart. I know my duty, and I will fulfill it.”
With speed and strength that belied his age, Garsea crossed over to Ximeno and gripped the younger man’s shoulders. “You must help Velasco to regain his faith. Even then, only the three of us… If there is a ritual for returning the dragons, we might not be enough.”
“We have to be,” Ximeno said quietly, “even if it is only the two of us.”
That night, Garsea departed the monastery, uncertain of his path, worried concerning the future, and fearful he might fail and never return.
What would happen to Dragoona should he falter?
39
Sir Edmund Hill
Everything had changed ever since Simba had been the first to spy the ships hailing Vincanan flags. Due to the potions Tatum had supplied, they had decent warning, and the enemy would not be here for perhaps another day entirely, longer if they were lucky, quicker if they were not.
There were only a few guards along the shoreline now. Most had gone back to the bunkers to learn what their duties would be. Edmund, if he were completely honest, thought it was folly that the privateers had not already been called. What was the point in having special guards whose only duty was to keep the Vast Waters safe from any threats if those same guards were not to be used to protect the waters closest to their mainland?
But Edmund was merely a guard. He hardly felt like a knight unless he was training, and that was of his own volition rather than coming from a higher authority. Anything he thought was not of importance.
He stalked along the coastline, noticing the barrels filled with kindling, ready to be set ablaze, but where were the arrows? Why was there not another barrel primed with arrows?
For the first time, Edmund began to feel the icy tendrils of dread squeeze his heart and steal his breath away. The Fates knew he truly believed that Rosalynne Rivera should be the queen of all the land. This war must be quenched and early to minimize both lives lost as well as to suppress any others from even contemplating rising up against Tenoch's castle.
Despite the realization that war was imminent, the crown had somehow been so incompetent that they were at a severe disadvantage despite the enemy coming to fight on Tenoch soil, far from their home.
A soft laugh had Edmund grimacing. Who would be laughing here? And that sound had been distinctly feminine.
Teeth on edge, muscles taut, Edmund drew his sword and eased forward, following the quiet conversation. Just beyond a sand dune, he spied Tatum and Dudley. The two were talking and laughing quietly, without a care in the world.
Edmund’s first feeling was fury. Why was Tatum here, enjoying all life had to offer, when the enemy was coming? Did she not know about the approaching ships? They needed more potions, and with the hours counting down, every moment counted.
Then, he felt guilty. Tatum was more than allowed to be happy, to spend time with her husband. She had already done so much for the guards and knights, for the kingdom, that she should be knighted herself. Her bravery, her sacrifice—was that not precisely what being a knight was all about?
Not that Tenoch had
ever knighted a woman before. That was something Vincana might do, if Vincana had knights. Were their fighters merely called warriors? Edmund knew about the Valkyries, but they weren’t precisely knights in their own right.
Finally, Edmund felt ashamed. He should begrudge his brother and Dudley’s wife nothing. Who was he to judge what they might do? After all, hadn’t Edmund moments ago been reflecting that they might well lose? And if they were defeated, who knew how many the Vincanans might kill or enslave or capture.
Without saying a word or drawing any attention to himself, Edmund slipped away. Despite the looming threat of war, how could it be that Edmund could not get away from his brother and his sister by marriage?
I do not need a distraction. I am a knight, and so I will do my duty. I will fight.
And I pray I will live, but if I do not, I will die with the honor that all knights of Tenoch Proper should possess.
But he would die not mourned by a wife and children, and Edmund could not help but wonder if he had been wrong to be so single-minded about his goal of knighthood. Surely courting and marrying a young lady would not have prevented him from obtaining his goal. Delaying, perhaps, but he had delayed finding love for so long that now, he might never locate the lady who was to steal his heart.
Because that lady was not Tatum. No. She had stolen the heart of only one of the Hill brothers, and his name was Dudley.
Or… were all female alchemists truly cursed? Was Tatum unknowingly causing the fall of Tenoch Proper by distracting Edmund from his true goal? A distraction during a battle could cause a swordsman, even an expert, to be the one to fall and succumb to death. What if the Fates had allowed Edmund to elevate from simple, peasant boy to a knight for a reason? What if that reason had been so he could somehow be the one to save Tenoch Proper? What if he were destined to slay Marcellus Gallus?
What if thoughts of Tatum, the woman herself, or even one of her potions fail should cause Edmund to die instead and Vincana to be the victor?
No. I am merely a guard. Tatum will not knowingly or unknowingly bring about the downfall of Tenoch Proper.
But as he farther away from the couple, Edmund could not help but wonder if Tatum shared his fears. She had been the one to mention the curse to him, after all. Did she worry about that often, how her life might be dictated for her because of a man’s jealousy that his alchemist wife would not share her knowledge with him?
Even when the dragons flew, people were cruel and wicked. Without them, it is merely more of the same. Perhaps the world would be a better place without humankind.
40
Rase Ainsley
As Rase wandered the marketplace, trying to find new and fresh food options for his family, he noticed a small girl, her face covered in dirt more than rags, coughing, her tiny shoulders shaking. She tried to chase after another boy, one slightly larger than her. He smiled at their playing and noticed a woman watching over them as she attempted to haggle with a man for some fruit.
“I told you already,” the man was saying. “I don’t want to deal with you. The last coin you gave me was nothing but a painted rock.”
“This is real,” she insisted, her voice taking on a pleading tone that caused Rase’s heart to break.
He gently pushed the woman aside, held up a coin, and bought a great deal of fruit, more than he typically purchased. The merchant was most pleased, that was until Rase handed three of the fruits to the woman.
“You don’t want to help her any,” the merchant grumbled. “I gave in once, and now she’s been trying to rob me ever since.”
“We all have our good days, our bad ones,” Rase said.
“True enough but our days look more up than hers ever will.” The merchant shook his head. “Between the coming war and winter will be here soon… it’s best to worry about oneself first and only.”
"Or first and then others." Rase shrugged. "Thank you kindly, and have a good day."
The woman had been staring at the fruit since Rase handed them to her. Her features were twisted into an expression of shock. After a moment, she blinked and turned to him.
“You don’t have to treat us like we’re paupers,” she said. “We don’t need—”
“I need a painted rock,” Rase said with a grin.
“It’s not…” The woman sighed, shifted the fruit into the crock of her arm, and handed him the coin.
It was indeed a painted rock, and he shook his head.
“Sunna Bushe! Conrad Bushe!” she called loudly.
The boy Rase spied earlier rushed over, but the girl was nowhere in sight.
“Where is your sister?” the woman asked suspiciously.
“She fell down.” Conrad shrugged. “She’ll come.”
But the girl did not come, and Rase trailed behind the mother and brother as they crossed through the crowd to where the girl lay. The chest and the top bit of her rag-clothing were covered in blood. As Rase watched, she coughed up more of the lifeforce.
“She needs a physician,” Rase said firmly.
He stood on his toes and glanced about. It wasn’t often that physicians would come to the marketplace. They were wealthy enough to send merchants in their stead, but Rase had noticed a portly man with spectacles and a hop in his step who wore a coat that declared him a physician wandering the marketplaces recently. It took only a few minutes for Rase to locate the man, just a few stalls away.
“Go and get the physician,” Rase said to the boy.
Conrad just stared at him with small, unblinking eyes.
“The physician—” Rase started.
The mother followed his gaze and pursed her lips, shaking her head.
“He has to—”
“He has been refusing to help the poor at all, and the other physicians have been so busy…” The mother rubbed her forehead before slipping her hands beneath her daughter’s neck, easing the girl to sit up as her eyelids fluttered.
Rase held up a finger. He had only brought along so many coins, leaving most behind, but even if he or the family could not pay the physician for his services, that did not matter.
The boy moved to stand a short distance behind the physician and followed him as he did his shopping. Once he left the marketplace and only then did Rase approach him.
“I wonder how the queens would appreciate learning that one of the physicians is not listening to their royal decree,” Rase said darkly.
The physician stiffened. “I do not understand—”
“Everyone knows, especially the poor, that none is to be turned aside. Physicians are to treat anyone and everyone who seeks their aid.”
“If you are implying I have been derelict in my duty—”
“I do not need to imply.” Rase gestured toward the outskirts of the marketplace where a great deal of the poor looked on at the marketplace with hungry eyes but empty wallets. Most had signs of various sicknesses, sores, even a broken arm. Another girl had blood on her chin, just as Sunna did.
“You have no proof that any of them approached me,” the physician said.
“I do believe each one of them would tell the crown you did exactly that,” Rase said coldly.
This edict was one that Queen Sabine had enacted about a month ago. If the poor sought treatment from a physician and could not pay, the physician was supposed to go to the crown for payment. Why then would a physician be unwilling to help treat any and all persons?
“What do you want?” the physician grumbled.
“For you to do what you are supposed to do,” Rase said. “What you should have been doing all along. I don’t think that’s unreasonable.”
The physician narrowed his beady eyes. “Unreasonable.”
“You became a physician to help people, didn’t you?”
“You have no right to lecture me.”
“No, perhaps not, but I am willing to walk all the way to the castle. I’m sure the queens will be so lenient right now. It’s not as if they’re concerned at all with a war or anything.”
The physician stiffened and eyed Rase suspiciously. “Are you sick?”
“Not me,” Rase said proudly.
“Not at all?”
“No. Why?”
“You’re only looking out for others?”
“Why is that so hard to believe?”
The physician sighed and rubbed his head. “Tell those who wish for me to treat them to come to my office tonight.”
“And your office is where?”
“Northeast beyond the castle’s walls. On a hill. I am Physician Holgar Knut.” He rubbed his chin through his long but well-kept beard. “You did not know my name, did you?”
“No, but I would have learned it eventually.”
“Followed me back to my house, hmm?”
“Possibly.” Rase grinned.
Holgar Knut sighed. “You have done this before, haven’t you?”
“Done what?” Rase asked innocently.
Before the physician could respond, Rase rushed over to the crowd of injured poor and told them about the physician. Unfortunately, he could not locate Conrad or Sunna Bushe or their mother. Still, he had helped many, and that was a start. It might not exactly make up for stealing, but Rase would give back as much as he could for as long as he could. At night, he often dreamed of the blood puddle growing beneath his dead pa, and Rase could not deny fearing that his end would be just as violent.
41
Fugitive Ulric Cooper
The whispers even reached Ulric in his hiding spot. Ships had been spotted, and now was the time to make final preparations.
Ulric wasn’t in the castle anymore, so he had no ears to know what precisely was the first or second waves of defense, but he was almost certain that he knew no one had stopped to think about the peasants, about the children. The nobles would have the means to travel away from Atlan to anywhere else in Tenoch. Without a doubt, the castle would be were the Vincanans would march toward once they reached the shore.
