by Steven Poore
Cassia seized upon that point. Now she could use everything she had learned from the warlock, and everything Craw had warned her of the previous night. “It is more than just ‘not a good thing’. Malessar told me he had made experiments to observe the effects of enclosed curse wards on beasts trapped within them. He had to destroy the results. Now the entire land of Caenthell has been set free. I have been there – I have seen what lay trapped behind those wards. It was bitter and hungry, and it wanted to be free. It withers life, and it will feed upon destruction, chaos and ruin.”
This was what she had wanted to say to Rais and his father, what had been dragging at her heels for the past few days. If Malessar was too frail to lend her his aid, then she must go elsewhere for help. Where better to start than the great armies of Galliarca?
The drums pounded between her words, and she felt her voice rising to block them out, until every person gathered in the Court of the King could hear her. “The wraiths of Caenthell will ravage the North and kill – or enslave – every living thing there. And then, they will follow the land south and take Hellea. After that, they will be too strong for any man to resist. The world will fall before them.” She faced Jianir squarely. “And I know this – because I am the Heir to the North.”
That phrase, the new definition of her self, took on new life, resounding through the Court and her mind as though a dragon had shouted it. Ministers and courtiers staggered, hands clasped to their ears, their eyes squeezed closed in pain; some even collapsed in dead faints. Rais, standing immediately to her left, was forced onto his knees by her voice, which had the cold, astringent echo of the mountains deep within it. Only the king himself, still seated, appeared to be spared the worst effects.
Cassia’s legs chose that moment to betray her, the strength leeched from them so that they bent like saplings. The drums of the North hammered at the very front of her mind, sending bright, unsettling flashes across her vision. The ground had become the deck of a ship, caught in a torrential storm. She clung tight to her staff; it was the only thing that kept her upright.
What in all the gods . . . ? More sorcery? Malessar?
No. This was something different. It was like she had been hollowed out, her blood drained and replaced with water. It seemed the gods themselves had lashed out through her. The North, she thought intuitively. Caenthell. It was reaching out to change her. To pour its twisted heart into her.
I can’t let that happen.
There was a familiar face at the corner of her vision. Dark-eyed, slender, a figure that had the aura of a predator biding its time. She had wondered if he would be here.
“Protect the king!” The shout rose from the ranks of ministers, taken up immediately by other courtiers. Cassia heard the guards surrounding her lift their weapons again.
“Halt!” she roared. That one word alone almost floored her, her legs buckling once more. She had to force her voice down from the terrifying heights it had managed to scale. It was not easy. “Stand and listen, all of you. That is what Caenthell brings. It will destroy you.”
She glanced over at Jianir. Servants worked swiftly to wipe his brow, straighten the thin steel circlet, brush dirt from his clothes, while the king himself struggled to regain his composure. His lips were compressed to a thin, angry line. “Then go, girl,” he said. “You are of the North. This is your problem, not mine. If evil sweeps down from the mountains as you say it will, it is welcome to Hellea.”
“But it will not stop at the coast! This land is in as much danger as anywhere else!”
Jianir flicked one hand dismissively, swatting his servants away. He apparently did not want to deal with her any further.
“And what can we do about it?” Rais looked up at her. There was real shock upon his face and he sat without any princely dignity, sprawled on the ground as though trying to drag himself away from her. “Torcilides is correct – he is no great sorcerer. It is as much as he can do to make showers of fey lights in the sky. Stervis is long gone, and your Malessar is useless – crippled by your own hand. If you are this Heir to the North, surely that power is yours to command?”
Cassia shook her head. Even blinking could not clear away the coloured blotches that swam before her. “No. You don’t understand, sir. How could you? All of this – this is what you were born with; it is what you aspire to.” She crouched before him, each breath burning her lungs. “I don’t want any of it. I never wanted it. All I wanted to be was a storyteller. I don’t know how to put this right. But it wants me. Caenthell is calling me back. Can’t you hear it?”
It was obvious Rais could not hear the drums. He could not feel the pressure of the dark clouds that she knew were forming over the mountains of the North.
“I have to go,” she said. “I have to do something.” The barest, skeletal lines of an idea were emerging in the recesses of her mind, piecing themselves together with the slowness of the passing seasons.
Things she already knew. Elements from old stories she had heard. Small pieces she had gleaned from what both Malessar and Craw had told her. Intuition, as fallible as that might be. “I don’t know if I can even make a difference, but I have to try. And the one thing I know for certain is that I cannot do this on my own.”
She straightened, wincing at the pain that movement brought. “My Lords of Galliarca,” she said aloud to the Court. It was difficult to keep the echo of the North from her voice. The drums had a firm foothold in her soul now, insidious and ever-present. “I ask you to bring aid to Hellea. Bring every kind of power you can. You may not love the Empire, but it must not fall. If I cannot undo what I have wrought, then all will depend on your strength, your endurance, and the will of your gods to do what is right for the world.”
Cassia paused for effect, allowing her gaze to connect with each of the ministers arrayed behind the king. Jianir himself had turned his head away, ignoring her. At last she looked down at Rais, who now rested on one knee; in this position he resembled a supplicant at her feet. The irony was grimly amusing.
“I thank you for your hospitality,” she told him, with a bow that was far closer to a nod. Rais was still stunned enough that it took him another moment to return the courtesy.
“Craw!” she called out.
For a single heartbeat she thought nothing would happen. Her whole appearance would stumble to an anti-climax and everything she had said would be undone. But a bargain was a bargain, and even if they could never be wholly trusted, dragons would always keep to the letter of a promise. The Court was shadowed suddenly, the sun blocked out by a vast shape overhead. The crack of great leathery wings blew dirt up from the ground and ruffled robes and gowns again.
Gasps, screams and prayers. The Court scattered into the gardens, and the king’s guards converged upon him to bear him away to safety. Cassia was unconcerned by the chaos. If she had failed to show Jianir how urgent her cause was, then Craw’s sudden arrival would surely have made the point. Exactly as she wanted. This would be a story told in the city for years to come.
The dragon’s claws scraped on the stones of the Court. In the full light of day, without the obscuring mists of Caenthell, it was truly terrifying. Each of the beast’s earth-hued scales was larger than her outstretched palm. Craw dwarfed the rest of the massive garden.
Cassia Cat’s-paw. You have made your decision.
“I have.” She faced the dragon without fear this time, staring up at the teeth that protruded from its jaw. They were intended to tear, to rend prey limb from limb. And yet Craw had an intense intelligence that rivalled – perhaps even outmatched – that of Malessar himself. If there was any danger, it would not come from those teeth. Or from the dragon’s powerful breath. “But you have not named your terms.”
Neither have you.
Craw was a creature of the North, and it had a long association with Malessar. It had a vested interest in what would happen at Caenthell. Cassia knew she was taking the biggest risk of her life in making a deal with the beast, especiall
y one inked in such vague terms, but she had come to the conclusion that she had no choice.
“I must return to Hellea.”
Not to the North? If such a thing was truly possible, then Craw sounded surprised.
“Not yet,” Cassia said.
The dragon lowered its head further, bringing its scaled bulk closer to the ground. Then we shall not waste time. The air grows wrong.
The hilltop was almost deserted. There was nobody left to prevent her departure. Cassia climbed onto the juncture between Craw’s neck and torso, and the dragon’s wings snapped out. She felt the beast’s muscles tense beneath her as it forced itself up into the air. She cast one last glance over her shoulder and saw Rais, stood alone on the platform of the Court, staring up in wonder. Then the roofs of the palace obscured her view. The wind whipped at her hair and at the ridiculously thin dress she wore. She wrapped her arms firmly around the base of the dragon’s neck and laughed.
I am the Heir to the North.
5
She pointed down at the city. “Malessar’s dhar.”
I know where it is, girl. Craw’s tone was carefully neutral in her head. But he is still in the palace.
“I need to stop there first,” Cassia insisted.
The dragon banked. We will cause panic in the city.
She looked down at the mede. It was difficult to make out the slat-covered streets between the close-packed buildings, especially as leaning over made her nauseous, but disproportionately small figures scattered across the flat roofs of the houses and dhars. “It doesn’t matter. We already have.”
Craw descended in a slow arc. Galliarca rose to meet them. The air brought the sounds of shouting and screaming, the city’s usual hubbub wound to a fevered pitch by Craw’s presence overhead. Despite its professed reluctance to land, Craw was obviously taking great pride in causing such chaos. Cassia tried to imagine how they must appear to the people below, the dragon casting fleeting shadows over the streets, too close now to be fully visible. Its tail, or one wing, or one flank of the scaled hide . . . fragments of the beast, seared into individual memories, would be collected over time into tales of a hideous and colossal monster that breathed fire over Galliarca, subservient to the barbarian Queen of the North who rode its back.
This is how stories are born.This is how the truth becomes a story. If it was pointless to stand against such a force, then she would not try. Embrace it, the drums seemed to be telling her.
Craw slowed until Cassia was certain it must fall from the sky, but the dragon landed upon the roof of Malessar’s dhar with the same fluid grace she had witnessed only a few weeks before. It peered down into the courtyard while she slid from its back onto the firmer footing of the rooftop garden.
Such sorcery. Craw’s tone was almost admiring. Cassia paused and stared up at the beast for a long moment until it turned its head in her direction. You do not agree?
“I was there,” she said. “You could have prevented this, Craw. You knew who I was.”
The affairs of the North are not mine to meddle in. This was an inevitable tragedy.
“It wasn’t inevitable. But you wanted this to happen, didn’t you?”
Craw tilted its head towards the yard again. Someone awaits you.
And, if Jianir’s temper was a reasonable indicator, it would not be long before he sent the Watch to drive both her and the dragon from the city. There was little time to spare. These questions would have to wait a while longer. Reluctantly, Cassia hitched up her skirts and hurried down the narrow stairs to the entrance hall of the dhar. The courtly clothes were not designed for swift movement.
Broken tiles and stones still lay on the stairs and across much of the hall. A path had been cleared from one side to the other, but it was clearly a lacklustre effort. Cassia picked her way through the debris to the edge of the courtyard and steadied herself against the doorframe. The wood was ruined, warped and split by the heat of the sorcerous battle that had been fought here, splinters jabbing angrily into her palm. The entire frame would need to be ripped out and replaced, but that was the least of the damage.
Her gaze was drawn immediately to the solid, immobile form that had been Meredith. He faced away from her, the shape of his back so utterly . . . human . . . that she expected him to stand and welcome her. But that, she knew, would never happen. Baum had made him – and now Baum was dead, and all his secrets had died with him. Malessar’s shieldmen were one thing, but this . . . this was wholly different.
Damn him!
Anger drowned out the ever-present drums for a moment and she had to wipe sudden tears from her eyes. Her sleeve came away smeared with the dark powder Rais’s servants had painted on her face. She looked down at the ruined silk blankly, and when she raised her head again someone was crossing the yard towards her, hurrying along the narrow, cleared walk.
“Sweet gods above!” Leili exclaimed. She threw herself into a hug, squeezing the breath from Cassia’s lungs. “I thought you were gone for good, girl! The Watch came and took everything . . .”
The older woman was trembling, Cassia realised. Trembling and crying. Given the way Craw shadowed the whole courtyard from his perch above, it was not surprising. It took her almost a minute to prise Leili’s arms open enough to be comfortable.
“They took everything?” she repeated.
“Everything!” Leili shook her head, fighting visibly to control herself. “No, not everything. All of your possessions. And some of the master’s books from his study. And some of my best pots from the kitchen. But I wore my shredded gowns and would not let them take any more. I said they had to leave me be and let me grieve. Four more days.”
Now Cassia managed to pull away and look at the other woman more closely. Her clothes had indeed been shredded and, in some places, torn with brute strength. They hung from her in ragged lengths, not a seam left intact. It was part of a traditional Galliarcan mourning ceremony – she knew that much, and since she had arrived in the city she had seen both men and women in the streets bewailing their losses. At first the sight had been distinctly unnerving, but after that it became a part of everyday life. This time it brought a cold ache to her heart.
Narjess. I am sorry.
And it felt wrong, when Leili was in such a distressed condition, to be relieved that the Watch had not been given the opportunity to ransack Malessar’s rooms. But a large part of her somewhat desperate fledgling plan relied on what she remembered having seen in his private room on the first floor.
Leili’s gaze flicked upwards. She blinked at the dragon as though she could not believe it existed. Cassia had once felt exactly the same. “Peleanna save us all,” the older woman murmured. “What are you doing, girl?”
“In truth? I don’t know,” Cassia admitted. “Or, at least, I’m trying hard not to think too much about it.”
“I said before that you sounded like the master.” Leili shook her head slowly. “Now you are far too much like him.”
“I have to hurry,” Cassia said. Part of her yearned to remain here and help put everything right again. Rebuild the garden and repair the shattered columns, and bring Leili’s house back to life so Malessar could return here and recuperate in solitude and comfort. But she knew that was not an option. There were some things she could never rebuild. “I need some things from Malessar’s rooms. I broke the curse – I have to do something about it.” She lifted her silk dress in both hands, staring down at them in resigned disgust. “And I can’t do anything in this.”
Leili shook her head again, hard and sharp. “Damn it all, girl, you’ll get yourself killed too.”
She paused halfway across the ruined garden, close to the fountain. Meredith knelt close by, within arm’s reach, but she could no longer feel his presence. Facing certain death was something she was becoming used to, she realised. And the ghosts who had fought alongside her at Karakhel had taught her that, perhaps, there were worse things to fear than mere death. Maybe there was even a chance to fight on pas
t the bounds of life.
Cassia glanced up at Craw. The dragon’s eyes were opaque and unreadable. “I’m not so certain of that, Leili. Not just yet, anyway.”
Time passes, Craw’s voice sounded darkly in her head.
“As do we all,” Cassia said. “Eventually.”
She felt that heavy gaze upon her back as she approached the rear half of the dhar. The doors to the sorcerer’s study still hung open, scorched and shattered, the hinges snapped, while the walk overhead was so damaged by magic it looked uncrossable. Still, she would have to get up there.
The opened shutters cast cold light into the study. Books, trinkets and debris lay scattered over the tables, and across the floor. The Watch had made a start in here, obviously, but Leili had not allowed them to do much more than begin sweeping Malessar’s possessions into heavy sacks in the middle of the room. Cassia sighed in frustration. She could not see where to look first, and she had only half an idea of what she should be looking for. And time was short – as Craw so helpfully pointed out.
She picked a table at random and began to forage through the sorcerer’s assembled clutter.
When Leili appeared at the doorway with a tight bundle of clothing, Cassia still had not found anything she thought might be useful. Scrolls bound in cracked leather cases, the ink fading and written in scripts she could not decipher, some that gave her headaches when she did as little as look at them. Cards decorated on one face with intricate designs, and on the other with stylised portraits of beasts she could not name. Small cages of steel, the bars of which looked to have been gnawed from within. Mummified and stuffed animals collected upon a set of shelves, their eyes replaced with semi-precious stones. Human bones and skulls, each painted and labelled in another script she could not read.
