by Steven Poore
Partially correct. Craw was enjoying the game.
“You are both old,” Cassia corrected herself with her own inward smile. “Why didn’t you tell him Baum was still alive?”
That would not have aided anyone, Craw said. Some events are mandated. They have their own momentum. They must happen. The curse wards would have fallen, eventually. It was only a matter of time. But would you wish to live with the knowledge of when your doom is upon you? In my experience, most men run from that knowledge.
“And Baum? Did he know?”
Hah. Switching subjects in this manner will not draw an answer, girl. Baum was a man of his god. He did Pyraete’s work. Craw’s head twitched to focus one of its eyes on her. The gods are unknowable and dangerous in their ways.
And this warning came from a dragon. Cassia had to look away from its gaze, drawn instead to the skies to the north. At this height the faint boundary between ocean and sky appeared to curve away gently, but it was much easier to distinguish that line than it should have been. The northern horizon was dark and forbidding. Not the dark of evening, though the day wore steadily on. This was a long, thin bruise, discoloured like a sickness, seeping up into the sky. With nothing but the rocking sea far below her, she could not make sense of either scale or distance, but even so she had no doubt what it was.
“Caenthell,” she said, half to herself.
Yes. For once Craw’s reply was direct. It grows.
“How on earth can I defeat such a force?”
Now the dragon was silent again.
Not every question must have an answer. Her mood matched the gloom of the sky to the north.
There was movement behind her. Wrapped up in her own thoughts, Cassia had almost forgotten Rais was there – he had hardly said a word since the dragon launched into the air. She had to remind herself that while dealing with Craw was fast becoming an everyday business for her, this might be the young prince’s first glimpse of a different world. Or, at least, the same world from a radically different point of view. It was not so long ago that she was in the same position. Indeed she had been cheated of the full experience of a dragon in flight on that first occasion, when Craw and Malessar had conspired to keep her asleep.
I wonder what they talked about then. Not that either one would tell me if I asked.
She glanced over her shoulder, shifting her weight slightly to make the turn easier. Rais sat between two of the ridges of Craw’s spine, the bundle that contained both Meredith’s sword and her own clutched to his chest. He was hunched over against the sea winds, his head ducked low. Cassia actually felt sorry for the man. He was an irritant, but he had offered his help. And so far, he had not complained at all.
“Did you not bring any food at all?” he asked, and her sympathy evaporated.
“Perhaps we should have waited for the Court to provide a full banquet,” she said acidly.
Rais glowered at her over the top of the bundled weapons. “I am a Prince of Galliarca!”
“Then perhaps you should be one, rather than just a boy playing games to impress his father,” Cassia said. A small part of her marvelled that she was talking to him in such a fashion. It was something she would never even dreamed of before.
I am a different person now. When did that happen?
“Games!” Rais repeated, affronted. “You think that was all a game?”
“Your whole palace was nothing more than a game. None of it was real. How could you live like that and not go mad?”
Rais shook his head. “I don’t know what you mean. How else am I supposed to have lived? And what are we meant to do for food?”
“You won’t starve,” Cassia said. “Trust me on this. You may die of cold before we reach Hellea, but you certainly won’t starve. Did you pack my clothes in there with the swords? Wrap yourself in one of my cloaks, for Ceresel’s sake.”
The prince fumbled with the patched clothing, frowning with a mixture of disgust and resigned concentration. His fingers were undoubtedly as stiff as her own. Cassia heard him curse in low tones as he worked, the words whipped away into the air. She turned away to spare him at least a little dignity.
“I am the respected Commander of the City Watch,” he said at length. “That is not work for boys.”
Cassia remembered her first sight of him, in the alleys outside Malessar’s dhar. Even then he had not seemed to belong. Where his soldiers fitted into their armour, Rais had had his armour made to fit him. That was the difference.
“Neither is this,” she told him. She pointed at the stain upon the distant horizon. “Rais, do you see that? That is a mere sign of what I have to undo. It terrifies me. If I have to do this on my own then Caenthell will crush me, and the High King will win. He will conquer everything.”
He stared out in silence across the sea for a long moment. The patched and jumbled colours of the borrowed cloak were an odd contrast against his rich silks. “I have never seen such a sky,” he said at last. Much of the sullen arrogance was gone from his tone.
Be thankful that you are, as yet, safely distant from the North, Craw interjected.
“If you’re coming with me, then I need your help. I don’t need a prince playing Court games.” If that was blunt, if she wounded him with these words, it could not be helped. He needed to hear the truth. Her truth. “You locked me in a cell and then paraded me through the palace, just to show that you could do these things. To intimidate and dazzle me and – whether or not you choose to admit it – to show off in front of your father. I’ve seen boys do that before.”
She thought of Hetch; the way his chest had puffed with self-importance when he described to her the tasks Rann Almoul set him, or the role he believed he had played in one of his father’s mercantile contracts. And her own father – he behaved the same way every single time he had an appreciative audience. When he thought he was being ignored he was petulant, vindictive and mean. Were all men truly the same?
Not Meredith. He was never that. He was more than any of them.
Both more, and less.
“If you had taken this more seriously, if you had left your pride and posturing out of this, would Jianir have been more willing to listen? To help? Would I have had Galliarca’s willing support without having to panic the entire city?”
Rais was silent again. He could not seem to drag his gaze around to meet her own.
Cassia shook her head and sighed. “I’m sorry, sir. I am exhausted; I am still coming to understand who and what I have become. I am wrong to insult you. I’m already in your debt.”
The prince shrugged, a small and uncomfortable gesture. “It begins to occur to me that perhaps the debt is mine, not yours.”
She closed her eyes. The drums of the North beat thin veins of colour across the backs of her eyelids. Gods, sorcery, and the effects of a shattered curse, all competing to claim her soul. It was little wonder she felt so drained, and so angry.
“What will your father do?”
Rais grunted. “At first? Not much, I’m afraid. He’ll shout and demand answers, and send out the Watch to secure the walls and the harbour. He’ll most likely recall Haidar and Olim from the south and the east. Then, when everybody else is rushing about and colliding in a frenzy, he’ll retreat to consider matters on his own. He will be digging information from poor old Torcilides with a sharp-edged spoon. Not in a literal sense, of course,” he added quickly.
“And Malessar?”
Rais nodded. “Your orders – my orders – should stand, but they will not protect him long from a protracted audience with my father. Technically he is still under the jurisdiction of the Court of the Watch and the sisters of Peleanna, so he should not be in any danger. But my father will want the truth. The full truth.”
“Malessar is an honest man,” Cassia said. “And that is the truth. But will Jianir send help?”
Rais thought for a while longer. “Yes, but not immediately. It will take time to gather troops and supplies. And scholars, too.”
“How long?”
“In all honesty? I don’t know.” Rais looked apologetic. “As you say, I am a commander of the Watch, not of my father’s armies.”
Hellea, Craw announced. What do you intend?
Cassia leaned over to stare past the dragon’s great neck. Ahead the horizon darkened and raised up from the sea, the folding contours of Hellea’s coastal flatlands a welcome relief to the monotony of the ocean. Already she thought she could make out the haze of chimney smoke rising from the first villages and farms.
“So fast a voyage!” Rais breathed, close behind her. He must have moved up to gain a better view. Cassia felt his arm brush against her side, the bundle of figures pressed firm against her back. “Is that truly Hellea?”
“The land, not the city,” Cassia said. She did not know whether to pull away or remain as she was. The edges and points of the wrapped figurines were just as uncomfortable as Rais’s proximity.
What do you intend? Craw asked again.
She realised that she did not know. Her plan, such as it was, had been to leave Galliarca and return to Hellea. She had not even considered what she would do after that.
“I need to think,” she said uncertainly.
The dragon’s wings tilted and it veered a little to the south, away from the fields. Granted. There is suitable ground nearby. I shall hunt. I suggest you do the same.
Food, and a chance to rest. Cassia decided not to argue. The day had already been far too long.
“We have to hunt?” Rais seemed quite astounded by the prospect.
She turned to glare at him and he shrank back a little. “I’m certain even you can hunt down fruit trees.”
To his credit Rais gave her a light smile. “Undoubtedly.”
Craw’s chosen ground was an escarpment close to the cliffs, alarmingly near the first traces of civilisation, a group of low-roofed buildings huddled together behind a hill further inland. The ground was stony and loose, sloping down to the cliffs, in parts scoured bare by the winds. Nothing grew but mosses and hardy brown grasses. The hills on the other side of the houses looked to have better, richer soil, but even so the vegetation that grew there appeared scrawny and stunted.
Cassia crouched on all fours with her packs as Craw launched into the air again, claws spraying dirt that caught in her hair. Rais was nearby, glancing downhill at the edge of the cliff. The Galliarcan looked out of place on the hillside.
The dragon dropped out of sight beneath the cliffs; Cassia could not help wondering how and for what it would hunt. Stories from the Age of Talons told of the beasts cracking human bones, supping on still-warm blood, and incinerating entire herds of cattle to slake their bloodlust. Perhaps it was best she did not know.
“I feel like an invader,” Rais said.
Cassia had to stifle her laugh. “Sir, you look anything but that. You may want to practise a Hellean accent though.”
“I hardly think anyone will mistake me for a native,” the prince said. He picked his way carefully up to more level ground, the roll containing Cassia’s swords tucked beneath one arm. After a few steps he paused to take up a handful of dirt and let it run between his fingers. “Kolus look upon me and defend me; Peleanna guide me to right.”
“This is Hellea,” Cassia reminded him.
“Your gods are not mine,” Rais said. “Now, the dragon was right. We must eat.”
Solid ground beneath his feet seemed to have reinvigorated him. He was becoming the arrogant and self-possessed prince again. Cassia dragged her own packs up the incline, slipping once or twice on the loose surface. Her staff acted as an anchor on several occasions. They would be lucky to make it back to this position without falling further down the cliff. Craw would have to pick them up from a different spot.
It did not take long to reach the edge of more cultivated land. Wooden stakes driven into the earth marked the limits of the farmland. They were weathered and dark with age, carved with rudimentary depictions of Meteon and Hellea to guard against ill fortune. This late in the season, almost every crop had been harvested; only the last roots would remain to be picked from the fields. Despite her earlier jest, even the deadfalls would have been collected from any fruit-bearing trees nearby. The pickings would be sparse for scavengers, as Cassia well knew from her years spent doing exactly that with her father. She wondered if Rais had reached the same conclusions yet, and how he would react when she told him.
I could do without him throwing a temper tantrum.
Either way, she would have to find an alternative source of food. Calling at the low houses clumped together just over the far side of the next rise was an option, but it was the last one she’d pick. In her experience communities like this one, at the edge of habitation and away from any kind of cart track or road, were wholly insular and suspicious of all outsiders. Even if they opened their doors, they would not welcome a Northerner travelling with a Galliarcan. And after that they would have to watch their backs until Craw deigned to return.
When. If. If Craw returned. No dragon was compelled to do anything.
Rais squinted at the silhouettes of the houses. “Do all Helleans retire so early?”
It took her a moment to realise what he meant. There was no activity in any of the fields around the small community, yet there was still enough daylight for everybody to be abroad and working. Even in the North, where the days were shorter and the evenings harsher, farmers, craftsmen and smiths of all kinds worked until after the sun had gone down.
“Not unless today is a festival day,” she said slowly.
“Perhaps they saw the dragon and fled.” Rais altered direction towards the houses and Cassia followed with a muttered curse.
“Rais, this is not a good idea.”
“If they have fled, they cannot have taken all their stores with them. We shall be well provisioned!”
Cassia bit down on another curse and tried a swift prayer instead. Sweet gods above, please do not look at what we do! She dropped the bundle of figurines at the crest of the rise, hidden in the midst of a few old tree stumps, and hurried to catch Rais. “For Ceresel’s sake, pass me that,” she hissed, tugging at the wrapped swords.
The prince surrendered the bundle in surprise. His brows raised further when Cassia drew the thin-bladed sword that had once belonged to Pelicos. Irritated, she waved him behind her. If they had to approach these houses, they would do it by her rules, not by his.
I am just as much an invader as he is – this is not my land.
Not yet, the drums reminded her. Not yet.
The first farmhouse made her think of Keskor. The uneven walls, thickened with fresh layers of plaster at the end of each summer, kept men, women and animals alike safe from the winds and rain. A roof of thin thatch, and only a low-mantled door to let in the light – there was poor fare indeed for storytellers in places such as these, even when the doors were opened to them.
This place was still inhabited, that much was evident. The ground before the door was heavily-trodden, and she heard sounds from within. Animals, she thought. She raised her sword and knocked upon the door with the hilt. There was no reply from inside.
“They have fled before me,” Rais said with an easy smile.
“Oh, be quiet,” Cassia told him. She lifted the latch and pushed the door with one foot, her nerves tensed for flight. The air that flowed out carried the odour of chickens, of damp wool and of stale flour and fresh roots. There was no lantern, torch or fire lit within. A large kettle hung over the ashes of a fireplace in the middle of the house. Perhaps the po
or people who lived here truly had seen Craw as it glided in from the ocean, and had run in terror to save their lives.
A dragon in daylight. Just as in Galliarca. Who would not run?
Cassia stood inside the entrance and surveyed the long room. A penned area at one end held the chickens, stacked in small cages, and a trio of sheep trod nervously on the dirty rushes in front of them. On the other side of the room, a raised platform held the family’s pallets, and the house’s modest shrine to Meteon was sited beneath it.
Rais pushed past her as though the house was his. Just as he treated everything, Cassia thought sourly. His expression was dismissive and openly contemptuous. “I see no bowls of apples. No cherries, no grapes. I suppose we could take the chickens.”
She sighed. “No, Rais. The eggs. And not all of them, either.”
“Eggs? I cannot survive on eggs and roots, girl. What else is there?”
“Nothing else that we are taking,” Cassia said. “Just the eggs, for now. We have not come here to steal from these people.”
Rais stared at her for a moment and then shrugged carelessly. “As you say. We are stealing from them, though.”
She decided to ignore him. Half a dozen eggs would not be much shared between them, but Hellea itself was not that far away now. The real trick would be getting this small haul safely away and finding a secluded spot where she could cook them without being disturbed by landsmen bent on vengeance. And without Rais managing to start some kind of war.
He followed her back out of the house, and she directed him to the lean-to wood store that had been set against the prevailing winds. Then, with Rais burdened by a load of chopped logs and kindling, she picked up the carved figurines again, pausing at the crest of the rise to figure out where they should go next. The farmers were undoubtedly still nearby, well hidden and probably well defended too. Small coastal places like this often fell prey to marauders and raiders, she knew from the stories told much further north along the coast, so the locals would be practised in retreating from danger. They would know every inch of their land, too; even those areas outside the boundary wards. The real question then was how quickly they would return to their houses. Whether Craw had scared them so much that they would not come out before next dawn.
