As Dragons from Sleep (The Tahaerin Chronicles Book 2)

by J. Ellen Ross

  It rebelled, comfortable in its stillness. Though precious little time had passed, in terms of death, hers had occurred a significant amount of time ago. Her body had long since surrendered.

  Though he had done this before, Avrid worried when his first attempts failed. Prodding Ani’s mind again, he curled his awareness about the little space that controlled her heart, coaxing it to beat again.

  Sluggish flutterings met his encouragements. Like a spark of fire resting on leaves, Avrid tended to her, whispering to her, seducing her to return to life. You may not die, Aniska. There’s so much left to do.

  Her lungs ached and heaved with the effort to draw breath. Avrid watched as her heart clenched and resumed its normal rhythm, forcing death back as it beat fiercely. Satisfied, he withdrew, and sat back on his heels just as he heard a spluttering cough and felt Aniska convulse.

  ***

  Andelko would swear an eternity had passed since Avrid assumed his stiff posture. A breeze passed over them, ruffling Ani’s red hair. Reaching out, he started to stroke her cheek but drew back, unsure if he should. He looked up and saw his friends as they all watched, gathered in a solemn vigil. Someone should tell Leisha, he thought, but she still stared over the ridge, absent from her body and the tragedy on the ground in front of him.

  Then Ani coughed and he heard her draw a great breath. Color rushed back into her pale skin as she gasped and choked. Andelko pushed her back as she struggled to sit up. “Lay still,” he said, and looked at Jarden for confirmation.

  The poor man had no idea what advice to give a person returned from the dead by the magical mumblings of a foreign mind reader. Turning to Avrid, he looked for help, and realized none would come. Jarden shrugged, thinking this defied anything he understood about death. “She should rest, for a long time.”

  “What happened?” Ani demanded weakly, frightened by all the faces staring down at her.

  Avrid patted her hand. “Someone, probably Edvard, killed you,” he explained, as if this sort of thing happened every day. “I revived you, though.”

  ***

  Leisha returned to her body, following her tether and stalked by exhaustion. Shaking her head to clear the fog and confusion, she swung her arms and instantly regretted it. While winging her way across the battlefield, she had forgotten about her wounded shoulder. Wincing, she stumbled and felt Zaraki grab her by the waist and she doused the flaring pain. “It’s done. Gerolt is dead.”

  “I guessed so by the vicious grin on your face.” He took her hand, looking serious now. “Don’t panic, but something happened to Ani. She’s fine. They’re just over there.” Pointing just behind the ridge, she could see Andelko sitting on the ground with Aniska propped up against him. Avrid hovered, speaking to her and touching her shoulder.

  In his mind, Leisha saw what happened, and it terrified her to think of her friend dying. “Edvard? I sent him to sleep. Why would he attack her?” she asked.

  “Who knows? But Avrid seems to think he must be wounded or near exhaustion by now. Otherwise, he would have struck again. Either way, Ani’s awake and pissed off. Now, come and see what you all accomplished.” Zaraki pulled her to the edge of the hillside, under the tree, and pointed.

  Shielding her eyes from the sun that sat much higher than when she last took note of it, Leisha saw the black-robed mind readers spread out down the length of the ridge.

  Pride filled his voice as he said, “It worked, Leisha. You and Avrid and Sarika did it. They’re freeing all the Cursed, killing indiscriminately.” Below the ridge, they watched as the Deojrin discipline collapsed. Tahaerins and mercenaries alike pressed their advantage, exhausting themselves in an orgy of violence. When some of the Deojrin tried to flee, they found Tahaerins moving to encircle them, cutting off any escape.

  Ladvik and Vially joined them under the tree to ask if Leisha would allow the remaining enemy to surrender.

  “No mercy,” she said. “Kill them all. They’re all guilty of the same sins, and there’s no place for them in my kingdom.” When the army left here, word would travel to the nobles in their towers and castles. They would hear that the queen some had chosen to betray gave no quarter and ordered the slaughter of her retreating enemies.

  As they began issuing orders, Leisha turned to Zaraki. “Are you all right with me staying here? I’ll go back to camp if you want.”

  Smiling, he realized that after all these years she would finally listen to him. And while yes, he wished she would go back and rest, he would not steal this moment from her. He understood the queen had work to do. She needed to mark this victory and deal with the aftermath.

  Careful to avoid her wounded shoulder, he hugged her and laughed. “No, let’s go finish this and enjoy our victory.”

  A radiant, sunny smile flashed across her face, and she kissed him.

  ***

  Ladvik and Vially sent small parties of men after the remnants of Gerolt’s army. Once they secured the area around Dabrova, they dispatched runners back to camp. Cheers went up and soon, wagons loaded with tents and chairs, tables and food, barrels of wine enough for everyone trundled in from the village.

  Symon arrived with them to oversee the preparations. The runners racing back earlier came full of stories of the battle, and he knew Leisha had been wounded. Now he rushed to see her.

  “I’m fine, I promise. It’s nothing,” Leisha protested as he fussed over her.

  “Nothing except a quarrel through your shoulder. Bring a chair,” Symon said to a servant, and then commanded her to sit in it. “They brought a tent for you. Danica is coming and she’ll get you ready for this afternoon.”

  Weariness invaded her bones as Leisha sank into the chair, resting in the shade under the lone tree. Avrid had warned her that numbing the pain did not help with any of the other symptoms of being wounded. Her body still revolted at the abuse done to it, and the exertions of the morning exhausted her. Everyone hovered. Zaraki pressed food and water into her hands and stood watching as she ate.

  More people arrived and began rushing about. They tended to wounded men and began the unpleasant task of dealing with the dead. Scavengers appeared, skulking around the edges, searching the battlefield for anything of value. With most of the fighting over and her part played out, Leisha watched it all, feeling adrift. For the last few weeks, she knew her purpose and now, once again, she had none.

  Danica arrived with the second wave of wagons, bearing a blue and gold dress, combs, and handfuls of hairpins set with sapphires. In a small tent behind the hill, she set about transforming Leisha into a queen again. When she saw the blood-soaked gown, she looked distressed for a moment before hugging her mistress carefully.

  Returning the unexpected embrace, Leisha said, “Really, I’m fine.”

  “You’re so brave, my lady. Camp is full of stories.” Danica wiped at her eyes before asking shyly, “Do you know if Eamon is all right?”

  “He’s fine. I saw him just a bit ago helping Irion herd some of the Cursed together.” Danica looked relieved, and Leisha did not need to peek at her thoughts to know why.

  Working together, they got the soiled and ruined dress off. The bandages were free of blood still, and Jarden had warned that too much movement would open the wound again. Leisha continued smothering her pain when it came too sharply, but let herself hurt enough to remember to be gentle with her shoulder.

  Danica’s chosen dress looked far more regal than Leisha felt at the moment, exhausted and dirty. The bright blue silk bodice laced up the back with gold ribbons and both it and the overskirt were heavily embroidered with gold thread. Beneath the opening of the overskirt, a gold underskirt hung, decorated with pearls strung together in a net. Leisha could not believe Danica managed to drag something this fine along with them for all these months.

  “You’re amazing. I’ll look like a queen again,” she said.

  Pleased, Danica helped her into the gown and settled it so no trace of the bandages showed. “Now, for your hair, my lady. It’s
—well, it’s full of leaves and grass.”

  Leisha laughed as together they pulled out the simple braid and dragged combs through her hair. Once they had it brushed out, Danica began weaving strands of it together with quick hands. Leisha watched in a small hand mirror as her maid formed an intricate plait that started at one ear and ran around her head in a circlet. The jewel-studded hairpins came next, and soon the braid looked like a crown of gems.

  Standing back, Danica judged her work with a critical eye. “I’m done, Your Highness, but it’s not my best.”

  From behind, Zaraki said, “You’re clearly a witch, as she looks perfect and lovely. Are you about ready, my love? You’ve quite the gathering waiting for you.”

  “Yes, though I’m not entirely sure what I’m supposed to do here.” She turned to see him with a short coat that matched her dress, in place of the brown one he wore all morning.

  Offering her his arm, Zaraki smiled. “A normal queen would arrive here after the battle and receive reports about it from her army’s marshals and captains. But we all know you’re not normal.” He winked at Danica as Leisha feigned offense. “For now, I think Symon and Andelko want you to be seen. Then there’ll be a feast tonight.”

  On top of the hill, groups of soldiers stood together in knots, waiting to speak to Ladvik or Vially. They all bowed as they caught sight of her, and someone started cheering. Servants had spread a large rug on the grass and set two large chairs under the tree so Leisha could hold court. She chose one and eased herself down, cradling her injured arm in her lap. Sit down and play king with me, she sent when Zaraki remained hovering over her.

  “Your Highness, Sire,” a voice shouted from behind the crowd of people milling about on the hill. “We found a gift for you,” Tibor crowed as the press of bodies parted.

  He and another soldier shoved a filthy, bloodied man forward. The animal pelt cloak hanging from his neck gave him away. Stumbling, Ceslav fell to his knees and caught himself with bound hands. “We found him trying to flee on the far side of camp. We killed the Deojrin marshals, but this one claimed he was Tahaerin and a lord at that.”

  Leisha stared at her one-time ally in disgust. Color rose in her cheeks as she realized he had chosen to join Gerolt’s forces to watch her defeat. She turned cool eyes to her left, where the mercenary leaders stood together, and gestured at her new captive. “Isak, may I introduce Ceslav, Lord of Jivina? This is your chance to be free of me. Do you still accept my offer?”

  The man looked stunned at his good fortune, pleased he would not have to use force to wrest his city from its former lord. He gave his new queen a malicious smile. “I do, Your Grace.”

  Returning his expression, Leisha nodded. “I’ve none of the usual trappings here for this, but we don’t need to stand on ceremony now. Kneel,” she ordered as he came forward and lowered himself to the dirt. “For your service to this kingdom, I grant you all lands and holdings of Jivina.” The sword he wore about his waist would suffice for that part of the ceremony, so Leisha touched its hilt. “And for the service you have rendered to us, I grant you the title of Lord of Jivina.” She touched the crown of his head with her hands to represent the circlet she would have placed there if she had one to give.

  Ceslav moaned, knowing this meant the end for him.

  Leisha turned to find Andelko. “Lord Constable, he wanted to make you king. What manner of execution would you prefer?”

  “Your Highness, please—” Ceslav started to beg, but Leisha cut him off.

  Perhaps if they stood alone on this hill, she might have allowed him time to get his house in order, make arrangements for his family. But Leisha would never pass up the opportunity to make a statement such as this in front of those assembled around her. They would bear witness to his death and tell others.

  “I told you when we met on the plains there would be no mercy, Ceslav. You had your moment that day, to posture and to defy me. Now I’ll remake this kingdom and there will be no room for traitors like you.” With cool indifference, she nodded to Andelko.

  Your choice, cousin, she told him.

  Though Andelko would have preferred to wield the sword himself, the Lord Constable could not stoop to a public execution. They had soldiers for that, and many still clamored for blood and vengeance. Just as he promised Ceslav that day on the plains, the former lord of Jivina met his end on the chopping block.

  ***

  As Ceslav’s blood dried in the dirt on Dabrova Hill, Leisha turned her attention to the men who won this victory for her. Rewarding Andelko would take careful thought. Except gifting him lands and castles, she could not imagine what would serve as sufficient recognition for all he had done. Given his protests about ever being king, she doubted holdings or titles would make him happy.

  However, she knew exactly how to reward one of her marshals. Leisha waited as throngs of people arrived from camp, and as she caught sight of Astra climbing the backside of the hill, she shouted for Ladvik. As he came to stand in front of her, Leisha remembered when they met at her coronation, when he tried to force her into a marriage she did not want to make. She remembered him when he arrived in chains after Zaraki exposed the plot to kill her and she remembered him the night she freed him in Moraval. Over the months of the war, she watched his thoughts and saw how time had smoothed some of his rough edges. He turned from an overly ambitious man whose reach exceeded his grasp to one who regretfully considered how his actions nearly cost him everything. It surprised Leisha when she found herself able to forgive him, but this was the sort of man she wanted to help rebuild her kingdom.

  “As I said to the new Lord Isak, I don’t have all the trappings here I need for this. But would you kneel anyway?” He lowered himself, and Leisha stood to touch his sword.

  “Ladvik,” she began. “You had no reason to trust me when I came to you in Moraval, but you did. I owe you a great debt, one that I can never hope to repay. You helped save not only this kingdom but also my life. I’m forever grateful to you. Because of your service to this kingdom I grant you all the lands of Tarnow.”

  Zaraki came to stand next to her. Very unlike her normally reticent husband, he spoke up now.

  “Ladvik, you had every reason to hate me. Instead, you helped me rescue the thing I treasure most in life. I can never repay that debt, and I’ll always call you a friend.” He stopped, and when he could not remember the words, Leisha whispered them to him. “Because of your service to your king and queen, I grant you the title, Lord of Tarnow,” he repeated aloud, and placed his hands on Ladvik’s head.

  “And now,” Leisha said. “One more one thing. Someone fetch Vially.”

  Over the course of the war, she had learned a great many things. For generations, Tahaerin nobles had consolidated power, hoarding it until it rivaled that of the crown. Conflict within the nobility and between the royalty and the nobles came to be accepted as something uniquely Tahaerin—almost a point of pride in the kingdom. Brutal and vicious infighting sapped the kingdom’s strength and prevented any real cooperation.

  Worse, the constant clashes encouraged isolation. Nobles huddled in their castles and schemed behind the backs of the kings and their neighbors—only coming together once every three years for the Convocation. Leisha saw this now and knew she would not keep repeating the mistakes of her ancestors. Instead, she needed new titles with new responsibilities and privileges. She needed men in place she could trust, men that would speak to the nobles with her voice, watch for their plots. Now she would lay the foundations for this change.

  As Vially appeared next to Ladvik, Leisha pitched her voice so the crowd could hear. “Today,” she began, and people fell silent. “I’m creating two new titles—Marshals of the Northern and Southern Marches. These titles outrank the existing lords, and they come with responsibilities over the towns and castles in the Marches. Ladvik, you’ll rule in the north, since that’s where your holdings lie now. Vially, you’ll rule in the south and we’ll find you an appropriate base. Your respo
nsibilities will be—” Leisha paused because she had not really thought this all through. “Well, they’ll be largely as they are today; raising an army and leading it to war.” She smiled. “These are landed titles. Welcome to the nobility, Vially.”

  Ladvik looked giddy and felt bold. “Your Grace, may I ask a favor?”

  “Of course. You may ask for anything today.”

  “May I hug you? Carefully,” he added, glancing at her shoulder.

  Laughing, Leisha agreed, and gasped as he lifted her into the air and spun around. He set her back gently on the ground as people all along the ridge cheered.

  She’s to your left, Leisha told him as his eyes searched for his wife.

  Catching sight of Astra, Ladvik took off at a run.

  ***

  Now Leisha needed to address the Cursed that survived. Avrid and Sarika, fortified with food, drink, and a short rest, said they could manage putting those that still raged to sleep.

  Standing up, she brushed at her skirts with one hand and coddled her injured shoulder. She swayed on her feet a bit, and several times she extinguished the blazing pain as it flared up. Next to her, she caught Zaraki watching her carefully.

  I’m tired and I hurt a little. Should we go? she asked him. If he ordered her off the hill, she would leave, even though she needed to play the queen a bit longer.

  You deserve this moment, he said as he reached out to steady her. Together with a sizeable escort, they walked down to where their little Cursed army stood together in a huddle of black robes and shaved heads.

  Though Irion assured them they would not be harmed, they waited anxiously to see what would become of them. They drew back, afraid as they saw the dark-haired woman who had wrenched them from the hands of the Kirous Visarl and his angry god.

  As she stopped a few feet in front of them, Leisha felt the weight of seventeen minds on hers, all caressing her with their thoughts, searching to see what she intended. Avrid had warned this would be very different from communing with just him and Sarika. Even so, it unsettled her.