DragonThrone02 The Empire of the Stars

by Alison Baird

  Ailia’s mind was awhirl. She too stared with widened eyes as the bird flew up away over the roofs, out of sight. Could it really be Mandrake? Or was this merely a local superstition?

  “This Dragon King, Mag,” she explained urgently as they returned to the kitchen, “I think I may know what he is. There is a story where I come from, of a sorcerer—a man of great power, who has lived many hundreds of years. He could easily convince people he was a god, using his powers of shape-shifting and illusion. If I am right, your Dragon King is no myth: he is very real, and I am afraid he really may have come back here to Loänanmar. He lived here once, I think, and after he departed the memory of him remained, so your people continued to revere him. I must warn your leader. It is one thing to overthrow a sorcerer’s acolytes: you cannot hope to fight him, if he really has come to retake this city. If your Overseer tries to oppose Morlyn—the sorcerer—his life will be in danger—”

  “No!” Mag looked more frightened still. “You must say nothing to him! Brannion Duron—the Overseer—does not permit discussion of such things. Magic and such-like. I can tell Rad and his no-good ruffians that I am a witch, but to say such things to Duron . . . People have been arrested for saying they believed in sorcery or gods or dragons or lost countries in the stars. It would be no use to plead that you’re a girl of the country, unaware of our laws. He would say you were seeking to cow him with old wives’ tales, and he’d put you in prison.”

  “Still, your people must be warned. If Morlyn has come back here, you must all flee this place at once.”

  “Duron will say you are spreading lies, and must be stopped.” Mag’s voice dropped to a rasping whisper. “The truth is the Overseer is a tyrant bad as any that came before him. He killed everyone who dared oppose him years ago, and anyone who speaks out against his rule is taken by his Collectors and never seen again. They come for you in the dead of night, in your home. They carry you off, and no one ever knows what’s happened to you. And the Collectors know where you are staying, Lia.”

  Ailia was puzzled. “But I’m only one person.”

  “You might give voice to the dissatisfaction of others. He’ll not brook any dissent at all, I tell you. If you ask me, I think he is afraid that the cult of the dragon god didn’t die, but lives on in secret. That the old priesthood will rise again, and cast him down.”

  Here was one more reason for Ailia to leave Loänanmar. “Then, Mag, I will be sure to be gone from here as soon as I give my warning,” she said.

  They spoke no more of the matter. Mag fried some carp and brewed a pot of bitter green tea while Ailia took her turn serving the customers, and then when Mai took her place Ailia had her supper. She ate hungrily, and was surprised to find that the hot drink left her feeling cool and refreshed. As she sat in the kitchen the suns set, in a flood of crimson and vermilion clouds followed by a turquoise-colored dusk. Glancing out the back window, she saw that the castle on the hill had turned to a threatening shadow, and around its towers there played luminous orbs of many colors. No doubt these were more “dragon lanterns,” like the one she had glimpsed earlier. They looked to be made of light, or quintessence: like the bright formless eidolons called will o’ the wisps, which skilled Nemerei could summon out of the Ether when in need of illumination. Could they perhaps be tokens of the Dragon King’s return? There were other lights within the dark mass of the castle, opening like fiery eyes to the night: lamplit windows, scores of them. One red light burned high in the main tower, just below its crown of pinnacles.

  Mag saw. “You see!” she said, gripping Ailia’s shoulder. “Someone is living in the Forbidden Palace again.”

  But Ailia’s attention had shifted to a noise that was coming from the streets: drums, it sounded like, and a babel of voices. It swelled like a river in spate as she listened. The procession, if that was what it was, was drawing nearer. “Whatever is it?” she asked Mag. The woman’s face was drawn with fear.

  “They have seen the dragon lanterns—the ones who still believe. They will make a sacrifice next, to stay his wrath for all the years of neglect. It was done in the olden days. The temple priests selected a virgin—the Bride of the Dragon. She was brought to the castle hill, to the Dragon King, and if he was pleased with her he sent the rains for the crops. Lia, don’t you see?” Mag sprang up. “He’s here—he’s come back! They would never dare this otherwise. The Overseer’s rule is finished!”

  Ailia ran to the door. Torches were burning through the dusk, drums pounding. Many curious onlookers were gathering, and more peered down from windows and rickety balconies above. Then as Ailia watched, a dragon came around the corner and into their street.

  It was only an image, made of cloth and gilded paper, its wooden framework supported by more than a dozen men moving in a line. The long cylindrical body was covered in red and golden scales, with a pair of fan-shaped wings made of wood and paper, and a mass of multicolored ribbons for a mane. Its eyes were painted wooden balls that rolled in their sockets. A child squealed as the head oscillated from side to side, snapping its wooden jaws. Then it danced forward, propelled by the men underneath. A procession of young girls trailed after it. All wore veils or wreaths of lilylike flowers on their heads, and long white gowns.

  “The virgin brides,” Mag said, peering over Ailia’s shoulder. “Oh, mercy—my daughter—they will want my daughter, Mai! She’s beautiful and young, and a maiden still. She will have to go with them, and offer herself. I daren’t refuse, now that I know he is back. I should have made her take up with that cursed scoundrel after all! Then at least she would have been safe from this.” Mag twisted her calloused hands together and groaned. “He is back, he has come to reclaim his realm. And those poor girls—how could they know? They all think this is just a new festival, a bit of fun—but now he is here and will take what is offered him. And he will punish all the unbelievers—and if I withhold my daughter from him he will punish me—” She trembled, and put her hands to her mouth.

  “Mag.” Ailia turned to face her. “I will go and see what is happening. Don’t be afraid! There are other powers than the Dragon King’s in the world, powers for good. Believe me, you won’t be left at his mercy.” Even as she spoke she wondered, unhappily, if she ought to be making such promises to this distraught woman.

  Mag shook her head. “No one can fight a god, Lia.”

  Ailia drew a deep breath. “But I swear to you, he isn’t a god. He is just a living, mortal creature, who came to your world long ago from another one.”

  “How can you know that?” the older woman asked, staring.

  “I know. There are—things I haven’t told you, Mag. Things no one else here knows about. This wizard must be fought.” Saying it aloud helped harden her resolve. “Listen to me, Mag. I can disguise myself, make people think I am your daughter. I can go to the Dragon King in her place—”

  “No.” The voice came from the room behind them. Young Mai was standing there, her expression rapt, her beautiful dark eyes shining in the torchlight. “I want to go with them—those other girls. I’m not afraid! I believe the Dragon King is good and kind. He’s come back, to save us from our hardship, and punish people like Rad and the Overseer.” There was love and trust in the girl’s face. “When I was little I used to think how wonderful it would be if he were to come back, and set everything back in order again.”

  Mag tried to talk, then gave a little sob and buried her face in her hands. Ailia said, “I will go with you then, Mai. I’m a maiden too. At least she’ll not be alone, Mag.” The woman made no answer. Mai went to her mother, kissed her lightly on the forehead, and slipped away into the crowded street.

  Mag gave a cry and caught at Ailia’s hand. “Yes, Lia—go with her! You’ve a sort of power, haven’t you—a gift, like mine? I’ve felt it before now. I don’t know who you are, or why you’ve come, but if there’s anything at all you can do—”

  Ailia patted the work-roughened fingers clinging to her own. “I will do what I can, I promi
se. Will you please look after Twidjik for me? He will need another caregiver now.” Then she gently withdrew her hand, and ran out into the street after Mai.

  THE TEMPLE WAS DESOLATE no more: it was aglow with lights within, and full of young girls of all ages between twelve and twenty, veiled and clad in the white garments of vestals. Ailia doubted, given what she had learnt of Loänanmar, that all were maidens: from the smiles and titters the girls exchanged she suspected that Mag was right, and the people thought this was nothing but a sort of harmless street festival. She looked around for Mai and saw her standing by herself near the sacred pool, gazing up at the idol. She looked very young and fragile in her white shift. Several old men in dirty, dragon-embroidered robes were anointing the statue’s stone feet with oils and muttering a chant in which she distinctly heard the name of Morlyn repeated, over and over. Ailia turned and followed a gaggle of laughing girls into a robing room to the left of the sanctum, where some elderly women were distributing white gowns and veils. The Overseer had been right in his suspicion that the cult of the dragon was not dead. It appeared that much secret preparation had preceded this night. Ailia joined the other girls in stripping to her undergarments, then took the long loose shift offered her and obediently pulled it over her head.

  A gong sounded in the main temple and the young girls, now gowned and veiled, were led out the door by another group of priests, and Ailia slipped into the rear of the procession. Through the streets they went, past crowds of gawking city dwellers, until they joined with the group following the paper dragon. Some of the girls began to laugh and dance. On and on the strange parade wound, through the main thoroughfares and then out of the city, into the steaming region of hot springs and bubbling muddy pools that lay beyond. To the very foot of the high volcanic hill they went, looking up at the now brightly lit castle on its summit, and there the priests called a halt. The laughing and chattering ceased. The girls in their shroud-white attire stood uneasily, clumping together in tight little groups. Mai, despite her earlier words, had begun to quake visibly and the soft glow had gone from her eyes. She stood quietly at Ailia’s side, and reached out to hold her hand.

  “What will they do now?” she whispered. “Will—he—come?”

  “I don’t know,” Ailia said softly. “Stay close to me.”

  “Hear me!” An elderly priest in a dragon-patterned robe came forward, looking over the girls. “Our master has returned from the heavens, to throw down the unbelievers and impose his rule on the world again. One of you will become the bride of the Dragon this night,” he intoned. “Bound to him for all time, never to be the bride of mortal man. Have no doubt, it is an honor: an honor beyond the lot of most women.” There were a few muffled giggles, but most of the girls had fallen silent.

  Ailia listened, sickened. What horrific ritual was about to be enacted here? She looked at the steaming cave mouth in the hillside: was Mandrake concealed there in his dragon’s shape, perhaps, awaiting the arrival of this sacrificial offering? What would he do?

  Then there was a piercing scream in her ear, and the hand in hers was pulled away.

  The priests had gathered around Mai, laid their heavy beringed hands on her slender arms. As Ailia watched they tore the veil from the girl’s head. Mai panicked, writhing wildly in the effort to free herself. “Lia—Lia!” she cried.

  Ailia shouted: “No—wait! Take me instead!”

  The high priest looked her up and down with a sneer on his thick features. “You? You’re nothing to look at. He will not want you. Go back to your home with the others. Our choice is made.” The girls were all streaming away like a flock of frightened sheep, their pale figures dispersing into the gloom beyond the torches. Mai now stood motionless in the men’s grip, her breast heaving like a trapped bird’s. Her eyes were fixed on Ailia’s.

  “Let me go with her then,” Ailia offered. “What is wrong with making two offerings in place of one?”

  The men looked at one another and shrugged. “As you wish,” the high priest said, and gave her a paper lantern. “Go. He awaits you in the cave.”

  Slowly Ailia and Mai mounted the narrow stony path that led to the cave entrance. It truly was as if they walked into a firedrake’s mouth, Ailia thought, and could not keep down her rising dread. She glanced up at the fortress on the summit. The great stronghold looked even more formidable at close range, seeming almost to lean over them. It had crenellated battlements and barbicans, and as if to frighten any attackers, there were also stone dragons along its walls, silently roaring with open jaws. They reminded her of the dragon statues on the ruined walls of Haldarion back on Mera.

  The cave gaped before them, and Mai hung back. Taking her hand, Ailia stepped forward. The steam misted her face, and the light was feeble, fading farther down to darkness. Holding the lantern high, Ailia led the way down the glistening rough-walled tunnel into the core of the dead volcano, Mai trailing behind her. It grew stiflingly warm as they descended—perhaps this volcano was not completely extinct after all? It was a disturbing thought, summoning images of seas of molten stone rolling and bubbling far down beneath her feet . . . Presently the tunnel ceased its steep plunge and grew almost level. They emerged into a wide space, a natural cavern. Its interior was very warm and damp, the rock faces glittering in the light of her lantern with more than moisture: it was all covered in crystals, like the inside of an immense geode. Were these crystals an aid to Mandrake’s sorcerous powers?

  A second tunnel opened out of the opposite wall.

  The steam rose from a body of water that half-filled the cave. It was a sort of cist, then—and the water was warmed by natural heat from deep down in the volcano’s bowels. Though it steamed it did not bubble—she guessed it to be hot but not scalding, bath temperature. Dragons, she knew, were fond of such natural cauldrons and would lie immersed in them for hours or even days on end. Was the Dragon King in this one, lurking just below the surface like an immense crocodile, hidden from view by the dense vapor?

  Suddenly Mai clutched at her and gasped. Someone was coming down the opposite tunnel. A glow of lamplight bloomed within its dark door, and as they watched a man appeared. He wore a dragon-patterned robe like the priest’s, but his was clean and well-kept and embroidered with thread of gold. He was very tall, and his long black hair was held back from his face by a gold clasp, so that his elegant patrician features clearly showed. He reminded Ailia all at once of the statues on the jungle ruins: a slightly debased version, perhaps, but still recognizable as a Loänei.

  The man looked appraisingly at Mai, a little smile curling his full lips. She trembled as he approached them, skirting the edge of the fuming pool.

  He smiled more broadly. “Welcome! This tribute is long overdue, as is the punishment for those who did not believe. And what a lovely creature you are, my dear.” He reached out with his free hand, touched Mai’s cheek. The girl flinched and shrank back, her eyes widening, but made no sound. Then the man turned, and frowned at Ailia. “But who might you be?”

  “I am called Lia. And this is my friend Mai. I asked to come with her,” Ailia explained as he continued to stare with raised black brows.

  “You don’t say! Well, you can always do for a servant, I suppose. You had both better come with me now.”

  He made a peremptory gesture, which Mai moved to obey, but Ailia stood still. “With you? I don’t understand. We were sent as brides for the Dragon King. Will he not claim us?”

  “Brides!” He laughed. “So they call you—but it is merely a formality. I doubt he will have any time for you. I will take you both to the royal court. If none of the courtiers wants either of you, then you’ll go back to the city temple to become vestals.”

  He had no very great Nemerei powers: a sorcerer adept would have seen through Ailia’s guise by now. She took a deep breath, drawing on all her power, and followed him and Mai.

  The tunnel up which he led them was very like the first, rough-hewn and narrow. But at its top was a wooden door bound
with brass, and beyond this a stone passageway, large and lamplit. Crimson carpets ran along the floor. Ailia and Mai followed the robed man through a number of corridors. Presently a sound of music and laughter came from up ahead: it flowed from a set of high carved doors.

  Across from the doors and whatever great chamber lay behind them was a furnished receiving room not unlike those at Halmirion. Here the two girls were met by attendants and made to don long red over-robes with voluminous hanging sleeves, while their veils were removed and replaced with heavy headdresses from which hung lengths of red fabric, embroidered like the robes with golden dragons.

  “But we cannot see through these,” protested Ailia as hers was fitted on her head. The red cloth hung before her face, and was completely opaque. “How can we find our way?”

  “You will be led by the hand. You are not to look on the divine presence before it is time,” one of the women told her.

  It was just as well, she decided: with her face covered she would not have to expend any more energy on glaumerie. Mandrake would sense no sorcery as she was led to him—until it was too late.

  They were ushered from the receiving room by the attendants holding their wrists and elbows. Ailia heard the sound of a door being opened. “Go in, and approach the Dragon Throne,” the Loänei man instructed their attendants curtly.

  The girls walked on, feeling the moss-thick piles of a carpet under their feet. Glancing down, Ailia saw that it was bright scarlet like her robe, worked with gold designs. This room must be huge: they walked for some time down what must be a central aisle, and she could hear the voices of what sounded like hundreds of people.

  Then their attendants hissed at them to stop and stand still. They obeyed, Ailia with growing tension. Was Mandrake here? Should she try to sense him, or would that give him too much warning of her presence?