The Shamer's War

by Lene Kaaberbøl

  “Death to the enemies of the Dragon!”

  They were all shouting now, all the men. Me too. I didn’t want to be left out. But torches in the thatch—there was something about that which just wasn’t right.

  A man appeared under my horse’s nose. I jerked at the reins to stop it, but they weren’t working properly; all I succeeded in doing was hauling the horse’s head to one side so that it stumbled and fell to its knees. Now we’ll see if I can fly for real, I thought, and I did fly for a little while before I hit something hard that wasn’t the ground. That came later, a second thump. Dazed, I lay on my side with my back against… against a wall, it seemed, a very hot wall. Sparks were dancing in the air like fireflies. It might be better to move away from the fire. I tried to get up, but although I could ride and fly, apparently I couldn’t walk.

  Oh, well. I would just have to crawl. But someone knocked into me and fell on top of me, and I thought, Why bother? This was as good a place to lie as any. Except that he was lying across me, squashing me. And I was getting wet. Something was running down my neck, along my collarbone, down my chest. I pushed at him, trying to get him off me, and I managed to push him to one side. It was then I realized that this was someone I knew. Not well, just one of Helena Laclan’s men that I had exchanged a few words with. Once we had both spent several days looking for Dina and Tavis Laclan.

  But he’s dead, I thought. A chop like that, right through the forehead, no one could survive that. There was blood in his hair and splinters of bone, and in his eyes there was no life left at all.

  I was getting angry. A good man, dead like that. What were they thinking of? And houses burning too.

  “Stop it!” I said, as loudly as I was able—I still couldn’t breathe very well. “People are getting hurt!”

  No one listened. They kept at it until there was not one living, breathing creature left in the village, and no house that wasn’t burning.

  “Get him up on a horse,” said Drakan when they found me. I hadn’t made it very far; behind me I could still see the burning houses of the village. I couldn’t walk, and my body shook as if with fever.

  There were still twenty-four and Drakan. I counted them. And I took note of their faces once more. Twenty-five men had ridden into the sleeping village and killed everyone who hadn’t managed to escape. Men, women, and children. There had been dead people everywhere.

  They seemed quite unmoved by it. Almost satisfied. What kind of people were they?

  People who drank dragon’s blood.

  Like I had.

  Oh, I remembered it, that rush of delight, that sense of being all-powerful. No pain, no shame. Freedom. Perhaps I was just incredibly lucky that they hadn’t given me a sword. I had ridden with them, shouted with them, “Death to the enemies of the Dragon.” If I had had a sword, would I have killed with them too?

  Even now. Even now I felt a stab of longing for another taste of that rush, that freedom. Everything hurt so badly. I felt so completely miserable inside.

  Drakan watched me with those eyes that reminded me of Nico’s.

  “You don’t look very well at all,” he said.

  I didn’t answer. What could I have said?

  “Tell me. How is he, my dear half brother? Where is little Nicodemus hiding himself these days?”

  Did he really think it would be that easy?

  “I don’t know,” I said. It was even true, after a fashion. Who knew where Nico and Dina were right now? Had they reached Dunark? And if they had, what had they decided to do when they discovered Drakan wasn’t there anymore?

  “Answer when the Dragon Lord asks you a question!”

  A cuff at the back of my neck sent me reeling forward. But I didn’t say anything else. I just scowled.

  “Don’t worry, Ursa,” said Drakan. “There’s no hurry. Sooner or later he’ll tell me everything I want to know, just to get another taste.”

  DAVIN

  A Shackle More Cruel

  We returned to Baur Laclan in the middle of the night. Sleepsodden grooms were dragged from their beds to tend to the horses, streaked with foam and jittery after the violent ride. The Dragon knights yawned and stretched, patted each other on the back, and straggled across the courtyard on uncertain legs, like men on their way home from a brotherly drinking bout.

  “What about that one?” said the knight called Ursa, jerking his head in my direction.

  “Chain him up again,” said Drakan.

  “Here?”

  “Where else?”

  “It’s cold.”

  “Lend him your cloak if you’re so tender.”

  They had to put the iron on my right foot this time, my left was so swollen that the shackle wouldn’t close. Might the ankle be broken? The thought made me go cold inside, because I needed two good legs if I was to have any hope of escaping. And I had to do something. If they forced another dose of dragon’s blood down me, might I then tell them everything I knew, and do whatever they wanted me to do?

  “Here,” said Ursa, dumping his cloak in my lap. “This cold is fierce enough to kill a dead man.”

  I looked up in surprise. Pity from a Dragon knight? Or was it just that it would be impractical if I froze to death before I had told them where Nico was?

  The fire had burned down, and only a few torches now lit the courtyard. I couldn’t see his face, and he left without saying another word.

  “So he did give you his cloak,” said Drakan. “Well, well. Getting soft in his old age.”

  People as evil as Drakan… it ought to show on the outside, I thought. How else was one supposed to tell them apart from ordinary human beings? He ought to be bigger and uglier. I hadn’t expected him to have horns and a tail, not quite, but still it seemed wrong that he stood there looking so ordinary. And so like Nico.

  “What is it you want with me?” I asked tiredly.

  “Now you’re being ungrateful,” he said. “Haven’t I just fed you precious dragon blood and practically made you one of my knights?”

  “I don’t want to be your knight. I don’t want your damn dragon blood!”

  “Really? And here I was, all ready to give you a little gift. But if you don’t want it, you can always throw it away.”

  He tossed something at me, and I caught it without meaning to. It was a small bottle. And I knew at once what it was. Dragon blood.

  “Do as you please,” he said. “I’m not forcing you.”

  And then he left.

  I stared at the bottle for a long time. I didn’t open it. But I didn’t throw it away either.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Morning came. The dragon lay curled in the ashes where the fire had been, probably because the ground was warmer there. I had wrapped myself in Ursa’s cloak and still shook from head to foot with the cold.

  “Lad?”

  I didn’t want to talk to anyone, particularly not to Dragon men.

  “Lad, are ye awake?” He prodded me quite gently, all things considered. And then I realized that at least it was a Highland voice. I peeked out from under the cover of the cloak.

  It was Ivain Laclan.

  For a moment I thought my fever made me see things. Ivain, here? I had to be making this up, probably because I was practically lying inside the Ring of Iron where we had once faced each other. The two things went together in my head; I had never since that day been able to look at Ivain without remembering the taste of blood and gravel and the bitterness of defeat. I closed my eyes, but when I opened them again, he was still there. Wearing a Dragon uniform.

  Revulsion rose in me like bile. Traitor! But then an even deeper disgust hit me. I might not be dressed in Drakan’s uniform yet, but I was lying here wrapped in Ursa’s cloak. I had ridden with the Dragon knights and shouted along with them, “Death to the enemies of the Dragon!” while they were butchering the villagers and burning their houses. I was worse than Ivain. Ten times worse.

  “What do you want?” I asked.

  “I cannot stand he
re chattering for hours,” he said, “so ye best listen. Something will happen tonight, right after sunset. If ye can get yerself free of that chain somehow, ye can come with us.”

  With them?

  “Out of here? You mean I can get away?”

  “That was the plan. Unless ye fancy staying on as His Lordship’s special guest?”

  And he was gone.

  I slowly realized that Ivain was no traitor. The uniform had to be a disguise. Somewhere out there were Laclan men that Drakan hadn’t caught, and they were planning an attack for tonight.

  How many Laclan men?

  Apart from Obain and the other fishermen from Arlain, I hadn’t seen a lot of Highlanders here. It didn’t necessarily mean that much; Drakan would hardly let the conquered Laclans wander around by the cartload. But on the other hand, grooms, kitchen drudges, castle servants—all the workers who were needed to make sure that Drakan and his knights might be housed and fed and clean and warm—little people like that often simply changed hands with the castle, serving their new lord much as they had served the old. But not here.

  I looked more closely at the castle walls. I did remember wondering briefly that there had been so few char marks and scars and other signs of battle damage. Might it be that Laclan had not defended the castle to the last man? Might it be that they had done something much, much cleverer? Like sneaking out the back so that Drakan still had a fighting force to worry about somewhere?

  Later that morning a mounted patrol came in.

  “Any news?” called one of the guards by the gate.

  “We haven’t seen hide nor hair of them,” grumbled the leader of the patrol. “It’s unnatural is what it is. Isn’t she supposed to be over seventy? There has to be a limit to how fast the old hag can run.”

  I sent up a silent prayer that it might be Helena Laclan they were talking about. If she was still on the loose somewhere in the Highlands, Drakan had not broken Laclan yet, not by a long chalk.

  Something will happen, Ivain had said. If I could get free of my chain…

  A big if. What did he think? That I could somehow rip it off with my bare hands? I couldn’t uproot an iron post the way the dragon had. I was only human, and a somewhat battered human at that. I was shaking all over, and I was pretty sure that some of that was from fever. The ankle was still pounding away, and the clawed arm had begun to throb ominously, as if it might be infected. Every time I closed my eyes, new ghosts had joined the throng. It wasn’t just Callan’s pale face now, or Valdracu’s half-cut throat. Now it was flames and darkness and dead people and a Laclan man whose name I couldn’t remember, and my own voice shouting, “Death to the enemies of the Dragon!”

  And I was thirsty once more.

  “Hey,” I called at a Dragon soldier. “Can I have some water?”

  He just looked at me and went past without saying anything.

  Was it on purpose? Had Drakan given orders so that I might end up drinking his vile dragon blood from sheer thirst?

  No. I would rather die.

  Why hadn’t I thrown away the bottle, then? Or broken it? The sharp ends would be a weapon if I needed it. But no. I had tucked the bottle into my waistband and could feel the cool weight of it against my stomach every time I breathed. If I drank from it, the pain would go away, in my ankle, in my arm and… inside. For a while.

  I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t do it.

  Around noon Drakan and two of his knights came out. Drakan looked down at me.

  “Where is he, then?”

  “Who?” I said sourly.

  Drakan only smiled. He knew I was stalling for time.

  “My beloved half brother, Nicodemus Ravens. He is up here somewhere, isn’t he? But which back of this godforsaken beyond is he hiding in?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “He hasn’t touched the bottle,” said one of the knights.

  “A stubborn one,” said the other. “Shall we encourage him a little?”

  “No,” said Drakan. “If he drinks it himself, he is mine. Body and soul. Imagine what that will do to the Shamer witch when we find her and Nicodemus and that daughter of hers because her son has become mine and gives me whatever I ask of him. It is worth the wait. And I don’t think it will be a very long wait, at that.”

  If I had had the strength, I would have hit him with my chain. But I wasn’t even sure I would be able to stand right now.

  “My mother says you spread shamelessness around you like a disease,” I said. “Like a plague rat.” The last bit was my own addition, but he couldn’t know that.

  He looked at me with clear, deep blue eyes, and somewhere inside him I could see a spark of fury, a spark he didn’t want to show.

  “We’ll burn her when we find her,” he said slowly. “Like the witch she is. I’m glad she got away last time. Eating her would have poisoned my poor dragons.”

  When they had left, I watched the dragon for a while. It had made no attempt to get at me today. Perhaps it had had enough of that game yesterday, or else the cold and the loss of blood had weakened it. I had no idea how much losing a cupful meant to an animal that size.

  I edged a little closer without getting up. It scowled at me but did not even raise its head off the ground. It didn’t look anywhere near as dangerous today, I thought. But maybe it was not really the dragon that had changed. Perhaps it was just that today I had something much larger and more terrible to be afraid of.

  To become like them.

  If he drinks it himself, he is mine. Was it true?

  I had to get out of here. And if that meant tearing up iron posts by the root—

  “Dragon,” I called.

  It looked at me sourly.

  “Stupid dragon.” I picked a rock off the ground.

  “Stupid old monster.”

  And then I threw my stone.

  The first time, it failed. And the second. And the third. By then, the dragon was so irritated that it was ready to eat me just to get a little peace. But the fourth time it tried to attack me; it thrust its head and neck under the Ring chain exactly where I wanted. I kept pelting it with every pebble and small rock I could find, and the beast heaved and shoved to get at me until the post started to lean. And then was overturned.

  I snatched at my own chain and hauled for all I was worth. It was still stuck! If the dragon wanted to reel me in like it had last time—

  It didn’t. It hissed at me a couple of times to make sure I had understood the message. Then it slithered back to its bed of ashes and curled up in the hollow it had made for itself.

  A little while later, I inched closer to the Ring again, to the post I was tethered to, the post that had been overturned. If I could work my chain free of the post… but it had not been pulled all the way out of its hole.

  I looked around quickly. If anyone had noticed my dragon-baiting, at least they hadn’t seemed to work out why I was doing it. But if I started digging openly at the base of the post, even the slowest of guards would become suspicious.

  I righted the post so that it was less obviously crooked and leaned against it casually. And under cover of Ursa’s cloak, I began my digging. I had only my hands and the chain for tools, and it was no quick and easy job. A good thing there were still hours left before sunset.

  Drakan came down again late in the afternoon. He stood there, looking at me, for quite a while.

  “If you aren’t going to drink it,” he finally said, “you might as well give it back to me.”

  All on its own, my hand went up to clutch the bottle through the thin material of my shirt. Not to give it to him, but to stop him taking it. He smiled.

  “That’s what I thought,” he said. “Just out of interest, how long do you think it will be before you drink it?”

  He turned to leave, but at that moment there was a clatter of hooves and a lot of shouting by the gate. Two riders came in, or at least, two men on horses. One of them could hardly be said to be riding. He clung to the horse’s neck, barely able to s
tay upright, and the other one had to lead his horse by the rein.

  “The Dragon,” gasped the wounded man. “I need to see the Dragon.”

  He was not talking about the monster in the courtyard, or at least not the four-legged one.

  “I’m here,” said Drakan. “What do you want with me?”

  The man attempted to right himself in the saddle but swayed alarmingly instead, nearly coming off completely. One hand was red and black with blood and dirt, but his black uniform made it hard to tell how much he had been bleeding elsewhere.

  “We were attacked,” he said. “An ambush. Highlanders. They took… they killed nearly everybody and took all the prisoners and the supplies.”

  “Where?”

  “On the road to Farness.”

  “Which prisoners?”

  “From Farness—men and hostage children—and the lot we picked up in Troll Cove.”

  “Callan Kensie? The Harbormaster?”

  “Yes. Those two, among others.”

  Drakan stood silent for some moments. His face was about as expressionless as the dragon’s. But I was whooping with glee inside. A millstone of guilt had just been casually eased off my shoulders. Callan was alive! He and the others had not fallen into Drakan’s hands after all. And there were people out there—Highlanders, probably Laclan men—who were resisting, fighting Drakan and his army although their numbers had to be pitiful compared to his.

  Drakan spun on his heel, and there was something in his face that made me sit very still. Suddenly I understood completely why the dragon had retreated from him and had stood unresisting while he had stolen its blood.

  “You know them,” he said.

  “Who?”

  “These people. The ambushers. You know who they are.”

  I didn’t, not really, except that they were probably Laclan men, and he could make that guess as easily as I could. But I didn’t say anything.