Privateer

by Margaret Weis

  The city of Cieleterre was charming. The streets were lined with maple trees and evergreens. The air was crisp with the scent of pine. The leaves of the maples were starting to change to blaze red. Many of the buildings were constructed of logs, similar to the inn, while others were made of native stone.

  Cieleterre was now a busy, bustling city. Masons covered in stone dust talked to architects encumbered with sheaves of paper. A group of strolling musicians strummed their instruments. Taverns were doing a good business. A priest shepherded a flock of schoolchildren who were leaving school for the day. Wagons rumbled down the wide streets, hauling supplies that ranged from beer to barrel hoops to barley.

  At any other time Kate would have enjoyed these sights, but now she scarcely cast them a glance. She hurried down the street until it came to an end, then followed the road that led to Grayhollow.

  All she could think about was Dalgren.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Grayhollow was a place of stark beauty and awful majesty. Kate stood in the center of the amphitheater, surrounded by mountains, and felt isolated and alone, as though she was the only person left alive in the world.

  The sun was already disappearing behind the western peaks, although the sky remained bright. Cold air flowed down from the mountains. Kate shivered beneath her coat and gazed around, wondering where to even start her search for Dalgren, and focused on two dragons relaxing in a field not far from Grayhollow.

  The dragons were wearing the sashes bearing the insignia of the Dragon Brigade. Assuming that they must have something to do with the court-martial, Kate walked toward them.

  The dragons had been watching her since her arrival and observed her approach with interest. They raised their heads to greet her, but did not rise. They sat with their wings folded, tails curled around their legs. She saw one say something to the other, probably wondering what she was doing out here by herself.

  As Kate drew nearer, she became aware of the entrance to a cavern almost hidden by sheltering trees.

  This must be the cave where they are keeping Dalgren, Kate realized. These dragons must be his guards.

  She noticed a horse tied to a tree and she wondered if a human Brigade officer was also present, standing guard. She had not counted on having to explain herself to a human. Her nervousness and anxiety increased.

  One of the dragons rose to greet her, uncurling his tail and politely extending his wings. He was an immense dragon, seventy-five feet from his head to the tip of his tail with the long, arching neck that indicated he was a dragon of noble blood. He was imposing, with vivid green scales and a dark green crest and mane.

  “I am Lord Haelgrund of His Majesty’s Dragon Brigade,” said the dragon by way of introduction. “How may I be of assistance, Madame?”

  Kate swallowed and drew in a deep breath.

  “I would like to speak to Lord Dalgren.”

  Lord Haelgrund blinked at her in astonishment, his crest twitching. His fellow raised his head, equally astonished. The two dragons glanced at each other. Kate had the impression that such a circumstance was without precedent and neither knew what to do.

  “What business do you have with the accused, Madame?” Lord Haelgrund asked.

  “I am his friend,” said Kate. “My name is Katherine Gascoyne-Fitzmaurice. I have known Lord Dalgren for many years and I have come to speak in support of him at his trial.”

  The two dragons conferred briefly in their own language, then Lord Haelgrund turned to her. “Lord Dalgren is currently with the Duke de Bourlet. You must ask permission of His Grace, of course, but I do not think he will mind if you join them.”

  Kate clenched her fists beneath her cloak in frustration. She wanted to talk to Dalgren alone, and now she had to contend with this duke who was, she recalled, the son of the Countess de Marjolaine.

  “How is Lord Dalgren?” Kate asked abruptly. “Is he well?”

  “He is at peace,” said Lord Haelgrund.

  Kate didn’t like the sound of that. She gave a curt nod and turned her footsteps toward the cavern. As she went, she wondered why this duke would be talking to Dalgren.

  “If he is saying anything to upset him, I will throw him out on his ear,” Kate said to herself.

  The cavern was dark. Kate had to pause to allow her eyes to adjust and even then she found it difficult to see where she was going. She could have lighted the lantern, but she was not yet ready to reveal her presence. She wanted to hear what this duke was saying. She quietly placed the lantern on the floor at the entrance and stole inside.

  As her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, she saw that the floor had been magically planed smooth, as were the walls and the ceiling. The atmosphere was oppressive, more like a mausoleum than a prison. She could hear a human talking in low tones, but she could not understand what he was saying. She crept closer, touching the wall with her hand to guide her.

  A faint light shone in the very back of the cavern. As she drew nearer, she could dimly make out Dalgren. He was lying on his belly, his head resting on the cold stone floor. The man standing in front of him must be the Duke de Bourlet. He sounded angry, and Kate was incensed until she heard what he was saying and realized he was not angry at Dalgren.

  “I confronted your father, Count Mirgrouff, last night. He has been spreading outrageous lies about you and I told him that if he did not stop, I would inform His Grace, the Duke of Talwin. Your father was at the Battle of the Royal Sail, but he has some deranged ideas regarding what happened there. I came to assure you that I do not believe his lies and neither do your comrades-in-arms.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” Dalgren said in a low voice. “Your support means a great deal to me.”

  “I have been told you plan to refuse to speak in your own defense,” the duke continued.

  “I am guilty, Captain,” said Dalgren. “I deserted my post. I will not make excuses.”

  “You would not be making excuses,” the duke argued. “You need to tell the court what happened that terrible day. They need to hear how you and I saw our comrades blown apart by our own cannons! You were wounded. My dear friend Lady Cam gave her life trying to protect me.”

  “You did not desert, sir,” said Dalgren.

  “I considered it!” said the duke. “I was fortunate that King Alaric disbanded the Brigade soon after or I might be facing trial myself. The court needs to hear your story.”

  The man’s voice sent a thrill through Kate. She knew him! She moved to where she could see his face reflected in the light. He was older, of course, but Kate would have known him anywhere. Every time she had looked at the little note she had written so long ago, she had heard his voice.

  Fight for your dreams …

  “Lieutenant de Guichen!” Kate gasped.

  Stephano de Guichen was not a lieutenant any more, of course. He was now, apparently, His Grace, the Duke de Bourlet, wearing a frock coat and silk stockings, not the split leather coat of a dragon rider.

  Stephano had been in his mid-twenties when she first met him. He must be in his forties now. His sandy blond hair was graying at the temples and his hairline was receding. He had not let wealth go to his belly, as the saying went. He was still fit, with the light-boned, slim build of a dragon rider. He turned to see her. His blue-gray eyes were shadowed, graver, more serious, and they were now narrowed in perplexity.

  “You have the advantage of me, Madame,” he said.

  As Kate advanced, Dalgren opened his eyes wide. A flicker of light shone for an instant and then the light died. His eyes went dark.

  Kate was chilled. She gave him an encouraging smile, then turned to respond to Stephano.

  “I was a child when you last saw me, Your Grace. I had sneaked into the Brigade’s fortress in Westfirth. Dalgren was coming down for a landing and I didn’t see him. You knocked me down and threw yourself on top of me. You saved my life. I am Katherine Gascoyne-Fitzmaurice.”

  “Good God!” Stephano exclaimed, smiling. “The little girl with
the big name!” He advanced to shake hands. “I have often wondered what became of that brash, adventurous little imp. Given your antics that day, I feared the worst. What are you doing here?”

  “You introduced me to Dalgren that day, sir,” Kate reminded him. “He and I have been friends ever since.”

  “Ah, of course,” said Stephano. He was still smiling, but his eyes were thoughtful. “I should have known. Were you summoned to attend the court-martial?”

  “I came on my own, sir,” said Kate. “I hope to be able to speak in Dalgren’s defense. I knew he would refuse to speak himself. He still bears the scars from that battle.”

  “We all do,” said Stephano, looking grave.

  “Could you arrange for me to speak, sir?” Kate asked.

  “This is a Brigade matter and that decision will be up to those who sit in judgment,” said Stephano. “I will put in a request, Mistress Katherine, but they may not permit it.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” said Kate. She turned to Dalgren. “Even if I cannot speak for you, dear friend, at least you know I am here. You will not have to go through this alone.”

  Dalgren lowered his head so that his chin scraped her hand and made a soft rumbling sound deep in his chest.

  Stephano looked from him to Kate.

  “I must take my leave,” he said abruptly. “My best wishes, Lord Dalgren. Whatever happens tomorrow, know that I am proud to have served with you.”

  Stephano gave Kate a reassuring smile and hurried off, leaving her and Dalgren alone.

  “Duke or not, he is a true gentleman,” Kate said, looking after him with admiration.

  Dalgren seemed deeply affected by Stephano’s words. He remained silent, however, gazing into the darkness, as though Kate was not there.

  “Are you still angry with me, Dalgren?” she asked. “I need you to believe that I didn’t kill that dragon! I was going to make Coreg tell me the name of the assassin, so that I would have proof, but Coreg—”

  “I know you didn’t, Kate,” Dalgren said, interrupting her. “Thank you for coming, but there’s no need to speak for me tomorrow. In fact, I wish you wouldn’t. I have confessed my guilt. I will accept my punishment.”

  Kate was frightened. He had hardly glanced at her. He had not asked about Olaf or wondered how she had managed to escape the Rosian navy or ask what had become of her hair.

  Dalgren closed his eyes. “I am tired. You had better go.”

  Kate regarded him in sorrow.

  “I will see you tomorrow, my friend,” she promised. “Try to get some rest. And eat something. You are nothing but scale and bone.”

  Dalgren didn’t respond.

  Kate sighed and left the cavern, remembering to pick up the lantern at the entrance. The sun had vanished, the afterglow was gone from the sky, and a few stars were visible above the mountain peaks. Lord Haelgrund was waiting for her, his bulk a deeper darkness in the night. Fire glimmered from his jaws.

  “Captain de Guichen asked me to tell you that he is sending his carriage to take you back to the inn, Mistress,” he informed her.

  “That is very kind of him, but I could not possibly accept,” Kate protested.

  “The road back to Cieleterre is long and lonely,” said Lord Haelgrund. “It would not be safe for you to travel.”

  Kate thought of the long walk back to the city in the cold and the darkness.

  “The captain is very kind,” she said.

  Lord Haelgrund gave a fiery snort. “Kind! You obviously never trained under him. He was a stern taskmaster. I have seen him reduce dragon cadets to whimpering hatchlings with a single look.”

  Kate smiled faintly and sat down wearily on a boulder. “Dalgren said the same. Yet I think he would have flown to hell for the captain.”

  “We did fly to hell for him,” said Lord Haelgrund grimly. “We flew with him to the bottom of the world. I will wait here with you until the carriage arrives, if that is agreeable.”

  “You are very kind, my lord, but that is not necessary,” said Kate. “I know you have guests. You must want to join them.”

  “My mate will take care of our guests,” said Lord Haelgrund. “She has hired minstrels and jongleurs and troubadours and a host of others to keep them entertained. I do not relish the prospect of sitting for hours on end with my wings politely folded, listening to a minstrel and trying not to disgrace myself by falling asleep.”

  Lord Haelgrund made himself comfortable nearby. He regarded Kate with concern.

  “You are worried about Lord Dalgren.”

  “I have never seen him in such despair,” said Kate. “He would barely look at me. He refuses to speak and he doesn’t want me to do so. Captain de Guichen said something … I’m sorry. I mean His Grace—”

  “Call him captain,” Haelgrund said. “We all do. Personally I believe he prefers it.”

  “Very well,” said Kate. “The captain said something about Dalgren’s father, Count Mirgrouff, spreading lies.”

  Haelgrund scowled. His crest flipped in ire, his eyes narrowed to glowing slits.

  “Count Mirgrouff is a wyvern’s arse!” he said, snapping his teeth on the name as though he would snap Count Mirgrouff in half. “He hates Captain de Guichen, blames him for the fact that he was forced to retire from the Brigade. To my mind, Captain Thorgrimson should have thrown him out. Mirgrouff was a malcontent. He contested every order. He was constantly quarreling with his comrades. His own rider threatened to resign his commission unless he was given a different partner. No one likes him. Trust me, no one pays the least attention to what that pile of griffin shit says.”

  “Except Dalgren,” Kate said somberly. “The count is his father. What is he saying?”

  “I don’t like to repeat it, but you should know,” said Haelgrund. He added reluctantly, “The count claims his son fled the battle because he was a coward.”

  “That is not true!” Kate cried angrily.

  “Everyone knows it isn’t,” said Haelgrund. “Unfortunately the count was present at the battle and will be given a chance to speak at the court-martial as a witness. Some of the officers who will be sitting in judgment do not know the count as we do. They may believe his lies.”

  “All the more reason I need to speak,” Kate said. “Captain de Guichen said he would talk to the officers on my behalf.”

  “They will listen to him,” said Lord Haelgrund. “No human is more respected among men and dragons.”

  Kate could tell by the dragon’s guarded tone that he was merely being polite, not wanting to upset her. The truth was, he was convinced she would wasting her breath.

  An elegant carriage arrived, driven by four magnificent horses—matching dapple grays—and marked with the coat of arms of the Duke de Bourlet: a rose entwined around the blade of a broadsword on a quartered field of silver and red.

  As Kate entered the carriage, Lord Haelgrund added quietly, “Lord Dalgren is prepared to accept his fate, Mistress. As his friend, you should be prepared to accept it, as well.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  At the appointed time the next day, the Countess de Marjolaine and Sophia came to the inn to help Kate dress, as the princess had promised. Sophia did not bring Bandit with her.

  “He does not behave well on formal occasions,” she said with a sigh. “He once disgraced himself at a knighting ceremony by nipping at the poor man’s ankles as he knelt before me. Since then, he is not permitted to attend.”

  Sophia draped the turban around Kate’s head. She and the servants helped Kate dress. Long trains were currently the fashion and Kate wondered how she would manage to walk without tripping over it.

  “You have a loop here, attached to the hem at the end of the train,” said Cecile. “Slip the loop over your wrist whenever you are in a crowd to pick up the train and keep it from dragging the floor.”

  “I failed to do that during a party and to my dismay a large Guundaran baron planted himself on my train and would not budge, no matter how many hints I gav
e him,” said Sophia. “Rodrigo was forced to leave the room, he was laughing so hard.”

  Sophia held up a mirror. “You look splendid,” she said.

  Kate had to admit she did look good. Her hair was starting to grow back, and now covered her scalp with blond fluff. Sophia had arranged some of the fluff to show at her temples, pulling strands out from beneath the turban.

  The dress was of heavy silk brocade, with an embroidered curling vine and rose pattern. She wore a chemise, silk stockings, and a lacy petticoat beneath. She had rebelled against stays. She had never worn them in her life and she was so nervous she already felt as though her chest was being squeezed.

  “I hope I do not freeze,” said Sophia. “I am wearing a flannel petticoat.”

  “I trust you are teasing, my dear,” said Cecile.

  “I am,” said Sophia. “But I thought about it.”

  She was wearing an ermine-tipped fur cloak over a jacket and skirt of velvet the same color as the azure sky, and a crown of diamonds and sapphires. The countess wore a fur-lined cape of maroon silk that matched her dress. Jewels sparkled on her hat, which was trimmed with feathers. Kate tucked her red kerchief down her bodice for luck when neither was looking.

  By the time their carriage arrived at Grayhollow, several dragons had already taken their places, ranged around the edge of the shallow bowl. A scattering of humans who had decided to brave the cold had gathered in a nearby field to observe the proceedings.

  Kate searched for Dalgren, but could not locate him. She was impatient to leave the carriage, to see if she could find him. Cecile counseled her to wait.

  “No need to leave the warmth of the carriage yet,” she said. She indicated several humans and dragons who were waiting at the northern point of the compass. “Those are officers who will sit in judgment.”

  Kate recognized the two men who had spoken to the countess yesterday. Cecile had said these men had recently traveled from the Aligoes. Hopefully they would not connect the elegant Kate in silk brocade and furs with the convict who had escaped the hangman’s noose.