“Sanction is still under siege, my lord,” said the aide, after a moment’s shuffle to the bottom of the pile. “The commanders complain they do not have enough men to take the city. They maintain that if General Dogah’s forces had been allowed to march to Sanction instead of being diverted to Silvanesti, the city would now be in their hands.”
“And I’m a gully dwarf,” Targonne said with a snort. “Once Silvanesti is secure, we will deal with Sanction.”
“Regarding Silvanesti, my lord.” The aide returned to the top of the pile and extracted a sheet of paper. “I have here the report from the interrogation of the elven prisoners. The three—two males and a female—are members of what is known as the ‘kirath,’ a sort of border patrol, I believe.”
He handed over the report. Immediately after hearing of the fall of Silvanesti, Targonne had ordered Dogah’s troops to capture several elves alive and have them transported back to Jelek for interrogation. Targonne scanned the report briefly. His eyebrows lifted in astonishment, then came together in a frown. He could not believe what he was reading and started over at the beginning to see if he’d missed something.
Lifting his head, Targonne stared at his aide. “Have you read this?” he demanded.
“Yes, my lord,” said the aide.
“The Mina girl is mad! Absolutely mad! Worse than that, I don’t think she’s even on our side! Healing the elves! She is healing the bloody elves!”
“So it would appear, my lord,” said the aide.
Targonne picked up the paper to read aloud, “ ‘She has now a cult of young elven followers, who stand outside the palace where she has taken up residence, chanting her name.’ And this. ‘She has seduced the elven king Silvanoshei, who was publicly heard to say he is going to marry her. This news reportedly has greatly angered his mother, Alhana Starbreeze, who attempted to persuade her son to flee Silvanesti in advance of the arrival of the Dark Knights. Silvanoshei is said to be besotted with this Mina and refuses to leave her side.’ ”
Targonne threw down the report in anger. “This cannot go on. Mina is a threat, a danger. She must be stopped.”
“That may prove difficult, my lord,” said his aide. “You will see in Dogah’s report that he approves and admires everything she does. He is infatuated by her. His men are loyal to her, as are her own. You will note that Dogah now signs his report, ‘In the name of the One God.’ ”
“This Mina has bewitched them. Once she is gone and her spell is broken, they will return to their senses. But how to get rid of her? That is the problem. I don’t want Dogah’s forces turning on me.…”
Targonne picked up the report again, reread it. This time, he began to smile. He laid the report down, sat back, went over the plan in his mind. The numbers, he thought, added up nicely.
“Are the elven prisoners still alive?” he asked abruptly.
“Yes, my lord. It was thought you might have further need of them.”
“You said there was a female among them?”
“One, my lord.”
“Excellent. I have no further use for the males. Dispatch them in whatever way the executioner finds amusing. Have the female brought here to me. I will need a quill and ink—see to it that it’s squeezed from berries or however the elves make it. And a scrollcase of elven design and manufacture.”
“I believe there are some in the treasury room, my lord.”
“Bring the least valuable. Finally, I want this.” Targonne drew a diagram, handed it to the aide.
“Yes, my lord,” the aide said, after a moment’s perusal. “It will have to be specially made.”
“Of course. Elven design. Emphasize that. And,” Targonne added, “keep the cost to a minimum.”
“Of course, my lord,” said the aide.
“Once I have planted my instructions in the elf’s mind, she is to be returned to Silvanesti and dropped off near the city of Silvanost. Have one of the messengers ready to depart this night.”
“I understand, my lord,” said the aide.
“One more thing,” Targonne added, “I will be making a trip to Silvanesti myself sometime within the fortnight. I’m not sure when, so see to it that arrangements are made for me to leave whenever I have to.”
“Why would you go there, my lord?” his aide asked, startled.
“Protocol will require my attendance at the funeral,” Targonne replied.
9
The Ring of Tears
ilvanesti was an occupied land, Silvanost an occupied capital. The worst fears of the elves had been realized. It was to protect against this very disaster that they had authorized the creation of the magical shield. The embodiment of their fear and their distrust of the world, the shield had slowly drained them, drawing upon that fear to give itself unwholesome life. When the shield fell, the world, represented by the soldiers of the Dark Knights, marched into Silvanost, and sick and exhausted, the elves capitulated. They surrendered the city to their most feared foe.
The kirath predicted the worst. They spoke of slave camps, of looting and burning, of torment and torture. They urged the elves to fight until death had taken every one of them. Better to die free, said the kirath, than live as slaves.
A week passed and not a single elf male was dragged from his house and tortured. No elf babies were spitted on the ends of spears. No elf women were raped and left to die on dung heaps. The Dark Knights did not even enter the city of Silvanost. They camped outside the city on the battlefield where Mina’s troops had fought and lost and Mina herself had been made prisoner. The first order given to the soldiers of the Dark Knights was not to set fire to Silvanost but to burn the carcass of the green dragon, Cyan Bloodbane. A detachment even fought and defeated a band of ogres who had been elated to discover the shield had fallen and attempted an invasion of their own. Many among the younger elves were calling the Dark Knights saviors.
Babies were healed and played upon the grass that grew green in the fierce bright sunlight. Women strolled in their gardens, finding joy in the flowers that had withered beneath the shield, but which were now starting to bloom. Men walked the streets free and unfettered. The elf king, Silvanoshei, remained the ruler. The Heads of House were consulted on all matters. A confused observer might have said it was the Dark Knights who had capitulated to the Silvanesti.
To say that the kirath were disappointed would be unfair. They were loyal to their people, and they were glad—and most were thankful—that thus far the bloodbath they had expected had not occurred. Some of the older members of the kirath claimed that what was happening to the elves was far worse. They did not like this talk of a One God. They mistrusted the Dark Knights, who, they suspected, were not as peace-loving as they appeared. The kirath had heard rumors of comrades ambushed and spirited away on the backs of blue dragons. Those who disappeared were never heard of again.
Alhana Starbreeze and her forces had crossed the border when the shield fell. They now occupied territory to the north of the capital, about halfway between Silvanost and the border. They never remained in one location long but shifted from camp to camp, covering their movements, blending into the forests that many of them, including Alhana herself, had once known and loved. Alhana did not have much fear that she and her troops would be discovered. The five thousand troops of Dark Knights would have all they could do to hold Silvanost. The commander would be a fool to divide his forces and send them into unfamiliar territory, searching for elves who had been born and bred to the forests. Nonetheless Alhana had survived this long by never taking chances, and so the elves remained on the move.
Not a day passed, but that Alhana did not long to see her son. She lay awake nights making plans to sneak into the city, where her life was forfeit, not only from the Dark Knights, but from her very own people. She knew Silvanost, she knew the palace, for it had been her home. In the night the plans seemed sound, and she was determined to follow through with them. In the morning she would tell Samar, and he would bring up every difficulty, present h
er with every opportunity for disaster. He always won the argument, not so much because she feared what might happen to her if she were caught, but because she feared what might happen to Silvanoshei. She kept in touch with what was happening in Silvanost through the kirath. She watched and waited and agonized, and like all the other elves, she wondered what the Knights of Neraka were plotting.
It appeared to the kirath, to men and women such as Rolan, Alhana Starbreeze, and Samar and their meager resistance forces, that their people had once more fallen under the spell of a dream such as had been cast on the land during the War of the Lance. Except that this dream was a waking dream and none of them could battle it, for to do so would be to battle the dreamers. The kirath and Alhana made what plans they could for the day when the dream must end and the dreamer wake to a nightmare reality.
General Dogah’s troops camped outside Silvanesti. Mina and her knights had moved into the Tower of the Stars. They had taken over one wing of the building, that which had previously belonged to the late Governor General Konnal. All the elves knew that their young king was enamored of Mina. The story of how she had brought Silvanoshei back from death had been made into a song sung by the young people throughout Silvanesti.
Never before would the elves have countenanced a marriage between one of their own and a human. Alhana Starbreeze had been declared a dark elf for having married “outside her kind” by marrying a Qualinesti. Yet the young people—those who were near the same age as their king—had come to adore Mina. She could not walk the streets but that she was mobbed. The palace was surrounded, day and night, by young elves who sought to catch a glimpse of her. They were pleased and flattered to think that she loved their king, and they confidently expected to hear news of the marriage any day.
Silvanoshei expected it, too. He dreamed of her walking into the palace, being led to his throne room, where he would be seated in regal state. In his dreams, she flung herself eagerly, adoringly into his arms. That had been five days ago. She had not yet asked to see him. On her arrival, she had gone straight to her quarters and remained there.
Five days had passed, and he had neither seen nor spoken to her. He made excuses for her. She feared to see him, feared her troops might not understand. She would come to him at night and declare her love for him, then swear him to secrecy. He lay awake nights in anticipation, but she did not come, and Silvanoshei’s dream began to wither, as did the bouquet of roses and violets he had handpicked from the royal garden to present to her.
Outside the Tower of the Stars, the young elves chanted “Mina! Mina!” The words that had been so sweet to his ears only days before now stabbed him like knives. Standing at the window, hearing that name echo in the bitter emptiness of his heart, he made his decision.
“I am going to her,” he said.
“Cousin—” Kiryn began.
“No!” Silvanoshei said, cutting off the reprimand he knew was coming. “I have listened to you and those fools of advisers long enough! ‘She should come to you,’ they say. ‘It would be undignified for you to go to her, Your Majesty.’ ‘It is you who do her the honor.’ ‘You put yourself in a false position.’ You are wrong. All of you. I have thought this over. I believe that I know the problem. Mina wants to come to me, but her officers will not let her. That great, hulking minotaur and the rest. Who knows but that they are holding her against her will?”
“Cousin,” said Kiryn gently, “she walks the streets of Silvanost, she comes and goes freely from the palace. She meets with her officers and, from what I have heard, even the highest ranking defer to her in all things. You must face it, Cousin, if she wanted to see you, she would.”
Silvanoshei was dressing himself in his very finest garments, and either he was pretending not to hear, or he had truly not heard. Kiryn’s heart ached for his cousin. He had witnessed with alarm Silvanoshei’s obsession with this girl. He had guessed from the beginning that she was using Silvanoshei to her own ends, though what those ends might be, Kiryn could not tell. Part of the reason he had hoped Silvanoshei would seek safety in the forest with the resistance movement was to take him away from Mina, break the hold she had over him. Kiryn’s plans had failed, and he was at his wit’s end.
Silvanoshei had no appetite. He had lost weight. He could not sleep but roamed around his room at night, leaping out of bed at every sound, thinking it was her coming to him. His long hair had lost its sheen and hung limp and ragged. His nails were bitten almost to the quick. Mina was healing the elven people. She was bringing them back to life. Yet she was killing their king.
Dressed in his royal robes that hung from his wasted frame, Silvanoshei enveloped himself in his cloth of gold and made ready to leave his chambers.
Kiryn, greatly daring, knowing that he risked rebuke, made one last attempt to stop him.
“Cousin,” he said, his voice soft with the affection he truly felt, “do not do this. Do not demean yourself. Try to forget about her.”
“Forget her,” Silvanoshei said with a hollow laugh. “I might as well try to forget to breathe!”
Thrusting aside his cousin’s hand, Silvanoshei swept out the door, the cloth of gold fluttering behind him.
Kiryn followed him, heartsick. Elven courtiers bowed as the king passed, many attempting to catch his eye. He paid them no heed. He wended his way through the palace until he reached the wing occupied by Mina and her Knights. In contrast to his chambers that were filled with people, the part of the tower where Mina had set up her command post was quiet and empty. Two of her Knights stood guard outside a closed door. At the sight of Silvanoshei, the Knights came to respectful attention, but they did not stand aside.
Silvanoshei gave them a baleful look. “Open the door,” he commanded.
The Knights made no move to comply.
“I gave you an order,” said Silvanoshei, flushing, the red staining the unhealthy pallor of his skin as if he were cut and bleeding.
“I am sorry, Your Majesty,” said one of the Knights, “but our orders are to admit no one.”
“I am not no one!” Silvanoshei’s voice shook. “I am king. This is my palace. All doors open to me. Do as I tell you!”
“Cousin,” Kiryn urged softly, “please come away!”
The door opened at that moment, not from without. It opened from within. The huge minotaur stood in the door, his head level with the top of the gilded frame. He had to stoop to pass through.
“What is this commotion?” the minotaur demanded in his rumbling voice. “You disturb the commander.”
“His Majesty begs an audience with Mina, Galdar,” said one of the Knights.
“I do not beg!” said Silvanoshei angrily. He glowered at the minotaur blocking the door. “Stand aside. I will speak to Mina. You cannot keep her locked away from me!”
Kiryn was watching the minotaur closely, saw the monster’s lips twitch in what might have been the beginning of a derisive smile, but at the last moment, the minotaur rearranged his expression to one of somber gravity. Bowing his horned head, he stood aside.
“Mina,” he said, turning on his heel, “His Majesty, the king of Silvanesti, is here to see you.”
Silvanoshei swept into the room.
“Mina!” he cried, his heart in his voice, on his lips, in his outstretched hands, in his eyes. “Mina, why have you not come to me?”
The girl sat behind a desk covered with what looked to be map rolls. One map was spread out upon the desk, the curling edges held down with a sword at one corner, a morning star on the other. Kiryn had last seen Mina the day of the battle with Cyan Bloodbane. He had seen her dressed in the coarse robes of a prisoner, he had seen her being led to her execution.
She had changed since then. Her head had been shaved to only a fine down of red. The hair had grown back some, was thick and curly and flamed in the sunlight streaming through the crystal panes of the window behind her. She wore the black tunic of a Knight of Neraka over black chain mail. The amber eyes that gazed at Silvanoshei were cool, p
reoccupied, held the markings of the map, held roads and cities, hills and mountains, rivers and valleys. The eyes did not hold him.
“Silvanoshei,” Mina said after a moment, during which the roads and cities caught in the golden amber were slowly overlaid by the image of the young elf. “Forgive me for not coming to pay my respects sooner, Your Majesty, but I have been extremely busy.”
Caught in the amber, Silvanoshei struggled. “Mina! Respect! How can you use such a word to me? I love you, Mina. I thought … I thought you loved me.”
“I do love you, Silvanoshei,” said Mina gently, as one speaks to a fretful child. “The One God loves you.”
Silvanoshei’s struggles availed him nothing. The amber absorbed him, hardened, held him fast.
“Mina!” he cried in agony and lurched toward her.
The minotaur sprang in front of her, drew his sword.
“Silvan!” Kiryn shouted in alarm, catching hold of him.
Silvanoshei’s strength gave way. The shock was too much. He crumpled and fell to the floor, clutching Kiryn’s arm, nearly dragging his cousin down with him.
“His Majesty is unwell. Take him back to his room,” said Mina, adding in a voice soft with pity, “Tell him I will pray for him.”
Kiryn, with the help of the servants, managed to assist Silvanoshei to his chambers. They took secret hallways and stairs, for it would never do for the courtiers to see their king in such a pitiable condition. Once in his chambers, Silvanoshei flung himself on his bed and refused to speak to anyone. Kiryn stayed with him, worried until he was almost ill himself. He waited until, finally, he saw with relief that Silvanoshei slept, his exhaustion eventually overcoming his grief.
Thinking Silvanoshei was likely to sleep for hours, Kiryn went to his own rest. He gave orders to the servants that His Majesty was unwell and that he was not to be disturbed. The curtains over the windows were closed and drawn, the room darkened. The servants stole out, softly shutting the door behind them. Musicians sat outside the king’s bedchamber, playing soft music to soothe his slumbers.
Dragons of a Lost Star Page 11
