By staying one level below her, I observed protocol and avoided appearing to loom over her. “Nothing urgent,” I replied. “Dary spotted something strange in the shadows, but it seemed to disappear again.”
Ursula considered that with interest. Even now she knew all of her Hawks by name. “Dary has sharp eyes. Almost as good as Jepp. Still it would be helpful to augment the watch with some of the shapeshifters Andi promised to send.”
“We’re bringing in dogs and falcons,” I reported, “but supplementing with shapeshifter eyes would be ideal.”
She considered me. “Perhaps you could travel to Annfwn with the message. Andi might take that more seriously.”
I caught and held her gaze, delicately setting my mental feet on the narrow line between subject and lover. “Don’t send me away.”
“Would you go if I ordered it?” She sounded idly curious. And didn’t fool me for a moment.
I simply saluted her with the Elskastholrr, not with a blade—even I didn’t draw on the High Throne—but with two fingers against my forehead in lieu of a blade. The essence of the vow is in the physical demonstration and, indeed, no words go with it. The intent lies entirely in the heart and mind.
She read it in me with a flicker of resignation, and broke her gaze away to the patiently waiting courtiers. “As you were,” she told me, the quiet words speaking volumes.
I’d returned to my place and she to the business of the realm, when the warning bells sounded from the walls. First-level alert. The courtiers erupted into shouts of panic.
Drawing my broadsword, I positioned myself in front of the throne, scanning the room for signs of attack before glancing back at Ursula, who’d leapt to her feet, her own sword in hand. “You know the drill, Your Majesty,” I declared loudly enough for all nearby to hear.
Members of Ordnung’s guard and Ursula’s Hawks, a protective cadre I’d personally chosen, formed a circle around the throne, more running into the room.
She glared at me in impotent fury, but in this situation our hierarchy reversed itself. As much as she might resent it, the focus of Ordnung’s response to attack had to be protecting the High Queen. We’d fought about it at length—usually with most stimulating results—and she’d at last conceded responsibility to me in a state of emergency.
Satisfied with her protection, I nodded at the ranking commander. “If you don’t hear the all-clear, take Her Majesty to the safe room.”
She saluted in the Hawk’s style, fist over heart.
“Harlan!” Ursula’s voice cut through the chaos.
I looked to her, braced for argument, but she set her jaw. “Be careful.”
“Always.” I grinned at her, her exasperated glare giving me heart, then took off running down the center aisle, courtiers scurrying still to both clear the way and move closer to safety. One part of my mind—the part that had made the Vervaldr the best mercenary troop a fortune could buy—noted what worked in our emergency plan and what didn’t.
Courtiers, curse the lot of them, acted more like terrified chickens than anything. A few, the savvy and those experienced in the conflicts that had shaken their kingdoms over the last years, handled the crisis with efficient, even cynical calm. Most, however, had gone straight into panic and hindered the rest.
Next time—if we had a next time—I’d have troops assigned to crowd control. The former dungeons, now a growing library, made for excellent safe rooms. The deepest and most difficult to access was reserved for Ursula and the best of her elite guards, but no reason the courtiers couldn’t be sent directly to the rooms that ringed it. More buffer against the enemy reaching the High Queen.
A grim smile stretched my lips as I shouldered a panicked young diplomat aside, his pile of scrolls scattering across the floor, and I imagined him giving his life to protect his liege.
The savage fantasy helped vent my frustration. Truly Ursula should be in the safe room already, but—as with all things to do with her—I’d also eventually compromised. She’d successfully convinced me that it would make her look weak if she ran and hid at the first alarm, but she’d promised to go at the second-level bells, or in the absence of an all clear. Theoretically.
I’d believe it when I saw her do it. She refused to drill in worst case scenarios.
My own handpicked team fell in behind me as I barreled out of the throne room and into the formal courtyard of the castle. Composed of Vervaldr, Hawks, and a few others, these fighters all either augmented my own strengths or compensated for my weaknesses. At least, those weaknesses I could do anything about. The biggest one should be in a safe room and wasn’t.
Deliberately, I cleared my mind, reciting the mantras of the Skablykyrr, the ancient words tolling in my mind and driving out everything else. I needed to fight and kill, to do and be nothing else but the intelligence behind my blade.
Taking the fastest route, I climbed the ladder to the walls, peripherally aware of the precision teams who raised the ladders for my comrades to climb, then lowered them again. We’d been able to drill that much.
Brant awaited me as I topped the wall. “Dragon, Captain. Approaching from the west.” He pointed and I followed the line of his finger.
A densely dark flying creature flew steadily toward us. With the long-winged silhouette of a vulture, it seemed to be no bigger than that—until I mentally measured it against the mountains. Enormous. Still distant, but rapidly gaining.
“Sand at the ready?” I jogged beside Brant.
“Yes. And water.”
“Water won’t work on dragon fire. Neither will arrows. Save those. Use the ballistae.”
“Already armed and waiting for range.”
I didn’t know if we could do much damage to an attacking dragon on the wing, but we’d certainly find out. We reached the guard station below the lookout tower. Dary was still up there, using her flag in crisp, unhurried communication. “Get Dary down,” I told him.
“Sir, if there’s another—”
“If there’s an attack from another direction, it will be nothing compared to dragon fire. Get her down. Everyone not on the ballistae takes cover.”
He saluted and obeyed, signaling to Dary and passing along my orders. I squinted at the dragon, growing ever larger, like a slowly falling star whose explosive landing could likely make Ordnung into a crater. The words itched to jump out, to order the second-level warning bell rung, but I couldn’t be sure yet—and Ursula wouldn’t easily forgive a false alarm.
On the one hand, all the living dragons we knew of were friendly. On the other, I’d seen firsthand what Kiraka, one of those “friendly” dragons, had done to Ursula’s Tala cousin Zynda. She’d been immolated and survived only by magic and possibly—literally—divine intervention.
I stared at it, willing my eyes to see more than they did. I beckoned to Dary. “Is the dragon a bronze color?” I demanded.
“No, Captain. Black, or very deep blue. Hard to tell at this distance with the light the way it is.”
I nodded, biting down on the frustration. Dary had good eyes indeed if she could see that much—and she must’ve picked out that it was a dragon, not a bird, when it had been merely a speck in the distance, given its rate of approach.
Kiraka was bronze, so that ruled her out. And the friendly dragon liberated from under the dormant volcano at Windroven was silver. At least they did us the favor of being different colors, much good may it do us.
Compared to the bedlam indoors, the walls were eerily silent. The township, alert to the bells of Ordnung, had gone quiet as everyone took shelter. Even the traffic on the trade road had halted, horses and oxen unharnessed and taken to cover, people crouching under wagons where necessary. The courtiers could learn from them.
Otherwise the quiet was broken only by the snap of Ordnung’s pennants in the wind, and the occasional scrape of a foot or weapon as we waited in tense readiness to fight an unstoppable enemy. One pass of dragon fire could wipe out half the soldiers on the wall.
&nbs
p; “Track that aim,” I called out as the dragon veered from its direct approach. The crews on the ballistae were ahead of me, using the swivel mounts to good purpose. The dragon swung east, banking with spread wings on a glide, its massive shadow passing over us as its bulk blocked the sun.
“Nearly in range,” the near-end ballista crew leader called.
“There’s a rider,” Dary called out from her perch standing atop the parapet. Not at all under cover but at least not so easy a target as on the lookout tower.
I squinted at the dragon, barely making out a figure on its back. If it was one of the Deyrr sorcerers, they could wipe our minds and make us happy to die by dragon fire.
“Correction.” Dary had a hand up, ticking fingers to show three. “Multiple riders.”
“Count of five to range,” the crew leader announced.
“Stand by to launch,” I ordered, starting the countdown in my head.
“Rider appears to be signaling,” Dary called.
Four.
“Can you make it out?” Brant asked.
“Not easy at this distance, sir.”
Three.
“Could be spellcasting,” I warned.
“Best guess,” Brant ordered. “Now.”
Two.
Dary’s face was pinched in concentration. I didn’t know how she could see anything. “On my signal,” I told the ballista crew.
One.
“We have the target, Captain.”
“Wait!” Dary nearly leapt off the parapet. “It’s Lieutenant Marskal.”
“Are you sure?” Brant snapped.
“His personal signal, sir.” She did leap off the parapet, running up to me, dark eyes large in her tight face. “Don’t shoot, Captain. I’d stake my life on it.”
“Stand down,” I ordered the ballistae crews, who leapt to disarm the weapons. “But keep the alert. You’re staking the lives of everyone in Ordnung, Dary—not just yours.”
“Yes, sir.” She spun to watch the dragon as they closed the distance, no doubt having observed our disarming. Then she pumped a fist in the sky. “It is him. And Scout Jepp and General Kral.”
This day got better and better. At least we wouldn’t die by dragon fire.
“Stand down to normal alert,” I called. “And send for Her Majesty. I’ll meet her at the castle gates. She’ll no doubt want to see this.”
Chapter Six
Her sword sheathed at her hip, tri-point crown glinting, and a phalanx of her personal guard trailing, Ursula strode through the outer gates, sharp gaze fixing on me for a long, inscrutable moment before she scanned the scene. Without a flicker of surprise, she took in the unprecedented sight of the enormous blue-black dragon gently wafting to settle on the expanse where tradesfolk and visitors to Castle Ordnung typically pastured their horses. Defying all common sense, the immense creature hovered like a hummingbird, setting itself down precisely and gently, though the great leathery wings stirred dust into whirlwinds.
“Who is it?” Ursula inquired, as if receiving an ambassador in court.
“Marskal, Jepp, and Kral, on an unidentified dragon,” I replied, with some bemusement, shaking my head for the absurdity.
“What kind of world are we living in that we even use phrases like ‘unidentified dragon,’” she muttered, sliding me a look.
I laughed under my breath, glad to connect with the woman behind the regal mask. “You got here fast,” I noted.
“I followed our agreement,” she countered.
“The letter of it, anyway.” I said it mildly enough. Had she remained in the throne room until I sent word, it would have taken her twice as long to arrive, even at a dead run. I’d timed it.
She elected not to reply, apparently absorbed by the spectacle of Marskal sliding down the dragon’s extended leg, followed by Jepp and Kral. My brother wore fighting leathers in the Hawks’ style, rather than the Dasnarian armor he’d affected for longer than he’d kept his loyalty to the Empire, though he carried a broadsword as I did. He caught my eye, gestured at the dragon, and shook his head.
I dipped my chin. We lived in interesting times.
Marskal turned to look at the dragon and held out a hand, as if to a lady love, and the immense creature vanished, replaced by Zynda. Clad in a simple, pale-blue silk gown, her long, black hair streaming down her back, the Tala shapeshifter smiled radiantly, and placed her hand on Marskal’s arm.
Ursula let out a short breath, too quiet for anyone but me to hear, and too subtle for anyone who didn’t know her as well as I did to understand it as sheer vexation. Even knowing shapeshifters could perform such tricks didn’t make our minds assimilate such impossible-seeming transitions. Never mind the additional headaches that receiving friendly but gigantic monsters at Ordnung would cause.
With Marskal and Zynda in the lead, Jepp and Kral following behind, the foursome strolled up to us. Arm in arm, they might be honored guests arriving for a ball.
“Your Majesty.” Marskal bowed, then saluted in the Hawks’ fashion, fist over heart, Jepp echoing the salute. Kral inclined his chin, an expansive gesture of respect for him, while Zynda smiled easily. Extracting her hand from Marskal’s arm, she embraced Ursula, kissing her on the cheek.
“It’s good to see you, Cousin,” she said.
“Likewise,” Ursula replied, smiling with warmth, unbending for the first time in hours. “Though I rather didn’t expect to see you on two legs again. Or possibly at all.”
Marskal made an odd choking sound and cleared his throat. Zynda shot him an amused look over her shoulder. “Things went better than we hoped,” she said, “though it takes a bit of explaining.” She arched her finely etched brows in significance, and Ursula took the hint.
“Let’s retire to my council chambers,” she declared, loudly enough for all to hear. “Court is postponed until afternoon.” She caught my pointed glance, but ignored my unspoken opinion that this would be a good opportunity to cancel court entirely for the day. Determined to work herself into the ground.
We passed through the deep outer walls of Ordnung, the gated entrance tunnel casting a deep, cold shadow, a reminder that the warm summer was still tentative and new. There hadn’t been enough time for it to fully banish the winter chill. Zynda strolled beside her cousin. Jepp and Marskal, likely out of long habit, marched side by side, conversing quietly, which left my brother and me to bring up the rear.
Hlyti seemed determined today to demonstrate that I couldn’t leave the past behind. Though hlyti isn’t a deity so much as the force of destiny in Dasnarian thinking, it is capricious, so I sent up a prayer that it would treat us as kindly as possible.
Kral had aged since that last night that all three of us were together. Of course, we’d both aged in the ensuing years. Jenna, however, remained locked in my mind looking as she had that night, forever a girl of eighteen, the last time I laid eyes on her. Unbelievably lovely, even with her ivory hair cropped short—an attempt at disguise—her deep blue eyes enormous in her delicate face, she swam in my clothes. Though four years her junior and nowhere near my adult bulk, I’d already outweighed her by half again as much.
The long sleeves of my shirt at least covered the raw wounds on her wrists and the other injuries she bore on her willowy body. Nothing could hide the haunted look in her eyes.
She’d been happy, though, as much as she could be. We both were, giddy with the prospect of imminent escape, and we’d been ravenous when we’d ordered the meal—food we never ended up eating, because Kral had found us.
I’d learned many lessons that night, all of them deeply painful, and just as deeply embedded.
“You’re quiet, rabbit,” Kral observed in Dasnarian, and I looked over at him. The age difference between us had vanished over the years. Four years meant little for men our age. Back then, it had meant everything. Though he was a bit younger than Jenna, barely more than a boy himself that night, he’d been far harder than either of us, already chiseled with the cutting edges our parents
had carved into him with relentless purpose.
“You’re the garrulous one, shark,” I replied in the same language. The language of home, bittersweet to me, with its twin threads of cruelty and nostalgia interwoven.
He snorted, eyes lingering on Jepp in front of us. She’d softened him considerably. Immeasurably, really, as I’d never have predicted Kral would turn his back on the ambitions he’d given up his humanity to pursue. He wasn’t the same viciously triumphant young man who’d held me at sword point and gloated over his victory.
Nor was I the weaponless fourteen-year-old boy who’d faced the devastating failure to save his sister from her terrible fate. Though Kral and I had made amends when we encountered one another again, it had been more of a tourniquet to stop the mortal blood flow that threatened to taint the present as well as the past. We’d agreed to move forward, as the men we’d become.
But that night hung between us still, hampering easy conversation. I’d think he didn’t feel the pain of that unhealed wound as I did, except for the way he searched for things to say to me.
“I’ve had word from our sister,” Kral said, jolting me out of my thoughts. He’d spoken quietly, as if we could be overheard though he still spoke in Dasnarian. All of our companions had picked up varying degrees of our language, so his discretion was well deployed.
Kral’s mouth twisted as he gauged the look on my face. “Not that sister. Inga.”
Ah. “And?” I prompted.
He gestured ahead at Ursula’s straight spine. “You’ll hear in the debriefing.”
“Then why mention it now?”
“Maybe I wanted to see if you’d think I meant Jenna.”
Twice in one morning. Hlyti had taken a broadsword to me, done with playing. I said nothing. Could say nothing.
Seasons of Sorcery Page 32
